


To make me dream of you

by Caivallon



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Getting Together, Hockey Player Auston Matthews, M/M, Non Hockey Player Mitch, Slow Build, Stanley Cup Playoffs, skateboarder Mitch, veryyyy slow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:48:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 103,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24995620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caivallon/pseuds/Caivallon
Summary: Austontriesnot to stare.But then he quickly gives up when the guy is shirtless in front of him: all lean muscles, just too far on the wrong side of skinny but with smooth, pale skin, upper arms and sides of his chest covered with ink, light brown hair tousled and cheeks tinted with a nice flush; either from the cold or the exertion of the skateboard ride or both. His jeans sit low on his hips, providing Auston with a glimpse of another tattoo next to the right hip bone.It's only half a second, yet it's enough for Auston's mouth to suddenly feel as dry as the desert in Arizona.
Relationships: Alex DeBrincat/Dylan Strome, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Mitch Marner/Auston Matthews
Comments: 153
Kudos: 232





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has a long history that started almost 3 years ago and was originally meant to be completely different. Different pairing, different city, different setting. So publishing it finally means a lot to me.  
> It’s the second-longest thing I’ve ever written and it took over a year to write… and another three months to edit it. A lot of my time and memories went into it, and also a lot of my love. Please tread softly because you tread on my heart.  
> For once I managed to plan everything ahead and stick to that. And since everything was planned ahead Patrick Marleau and Naz are still Leafs in this story. I couldn’t not have them in this fic because I love them and they’re always Leafs for me. I also ignored current events. 
> 
> I don’t know anyone in this story and everything is made up. There are some original characters that are all inspired by people that I know even though they probably don’t recognize themselves. 
> 
> I’m not good with tags, but I try to add tags while I’m posting and I also try to include warnings that I explain in the endnotes for people who want to avoid spoilers. Please tell me whenever something bothers you and you think that needs a warning. 
> 
> Posting this story wouldn’t have been possible without a lot of people: [ **Linsky** ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Linsky/pseuds/Linsky) (because she was right there in the beginning when this was still a 1988 story), [ **breakmystrings** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakmystrings/pseuds/breakmystrings) (because she always listened and encouraged me and cheered for me), and my [ **Bee**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tatou/pseuds/tatou) (because she patiently listens to my ramblings even though she couldn’t care less about this pairing). But most of all I have to thank all the lovely people who took up the challenge to beta this monster: [ **cardiac arrest** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardiac_arrest/pseuds/cardiac_arrest), [ **gravityinglass** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gravityinglass/profile), Corey and especially [ **annnnd_ishipit** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annnnd_ishipit/profile) and Sarah. They put so much time and effort into this story I can’t ever thank them enough. Editing 90k of a Non-English speaker is definitely not a piece of cake. Thank you sooo much ♥ 
> 
> That said, the story is finished and I plan on uploading it every week or every second week. 
> 
> Sorry for the long foreword, but it’s a long story ^_^
> 
> I hope you like it and have fun reading it. 
> 
> [](https://imgur.com/TPVmIYB)  
> 

Even though no one would expect it from him, Auston is a punctual person; he hates being late, often arrives with some time to spare. He doesn't like to hurry, doesn't like getting stressed, or having to apologize for making others wait.

Sadly William Nylander doesn’t have this same habit, which is one of the main reasons that Auston spends a lot of time waiting, and also why he's become really good at sudoku. 

It's also why Auston is now hanging around in front of the stage door of the Hyatt, idly scrolling on his phone and watching dozen of catering people unloading trucks. A very busy lady with a headset orders them around and sends desperate looks in his direction as if that would make Willy and other latecomers appear faster. 

Auston sends them an apologetic smile because… well, good luck with that. 

He could wait inside, but it's even busier inside and there’s plenty of time until he has to get on stage. Also, it's a beautiful afternoon, probably one of the last ones this autumn; all blue skies and golden light reflected from the skyscrapers surrounding them. It’s almost warm enough to make him believe in the return of summer if it weren't for the fact that it's still Toronto and two days ago he awoke to the first messengers of November; anthracite clouds hanging low above the city and grey patches of sleet covering his rooftop terrace. 

Auston shifts and lifts his face, intending to soak up every little ray of sunlight that he can get when he notices a young man rolling up towards him on a skateboard.

Wearing dark jeans, a baggy hoodie, and almost startling white sneakers the guy is strangely out of place among all the sharply dressed waiters and PR people milling about. He skitters to a halt with a casual and cool looking hop, using his right foot to make the board jump into his outstretched hand, grinning widely at Auston. 

"Hi." 

Auston doesn't even realize that the greeting is meant for him at first, but the guy looks at him so expectantly that he nods. 

"Gosh, I'm sooo very late." The guy - he couldn't be older than 18 - leans the skateboard on the wall next to Auston and takes his helmet off, revealing a mop of flattened brown hair that he immediately combs his fingers through; one smooth movement, natural and easy, before he swings the Osprey backpack from his shoulder: almost elegant and so very at odds with the tattered look of the black fabric, covered with pink writing, buttons and pins. 

"I thought I could change here but then there was heavy traffic on Queen. Couldn't even squeeze through with the skateboard." 

With an apologetic smile, the guy crouches down to pull out what looks like a dinner jacket and a white dress shirt—both so wrinkled that Auston wants to frown. 

He doesn't. Because his mom raised a polite boy and he doesn't know the guy. And because the busy chief of catering will probably do that anyway when she spots one of the waiters wearing this monstrosity for a job. 

But mostly he doesn’t frown because the guy presses the shirt and jacket into his hands without even asking and then starts to take off the hoodie—apparently not caring that they’re outside or that it's just above seventy degrees.He's only wearing a skimpy wife-beater underneath, which he also takes off after a short moment of consideration. 

"But if I went in then they'd drag me right up on stage, and I thought I'd rather be a bit late. Because Kathy would kill me if I went up there like this."

The guy rambles on but Auston can't pay attention, too busy trying not to stare. Not that anyone would notice since he's wearing his dark sunglasses, and not that anyone would mind because that guy is clearly crazy. 

He still _tries_ not to stare. 

But then he quickly gives up when the guy is shirtless in front of him: all lean muscles, just too far on the wrong side of skinny but with smooth, pale skin, upper arms and sides of his chest covered with ink, light brown hair tousled and cheeks tinted with a nice flush; either from the cold or the exertion of the skateboard ride or both. His jeans sit low on his hips, providing Auston with a glimpse of another tattoo next to the right hip bone. 

It's only half a second, yet it's enough for Auston's mouth to suddenly feel as dry as the desert in Arizona. 

Then the shirt gets yanked from his hands and the guy grins at him while he worms his arms through before closing the buttons from the waist up. The fabric is clearly cheap, Auston can still see the ink shine through, blurred lines of a name and a date probably. It also doesn't fit, the seams askew and not lining up, just like the dinner jacket that’s a tiny bit too wide around the shoulders and a lot too wide around the waist, giving him the look of a teenage boy borrowing his father's clothes to impress a girl. 

But somehow… it works. At least for Auston. At least right now, because the sight of that hard flat stomach leaves him with a pull of longing and arousal in his lower body; a tingling spark that makes it easy to smile when the boy finally stands in front of him, arms outstretched.

' _How do I look?_ '

(It's been a while since he last hooked up with a guy.) 

Before Auston can open his mouth the wide grin gets even wider and the guy grabs his backpack from the ground, attaches the helmet and crams the hoodie and his undershirt into it. 

"Didn't have leather shoes… do you think anyone will be bothered?" 

"I don't think anyone will even notice with everything that's going on up there." Auston makes a vague circle with his hand to point out the terrible mess that is the twisted shirt and wrinkled jacket. 

"Great!" The grin turns into a smile that is so bright and happy as if he wants to blind Auston behind his shades, and as if Auston's voice hasn't been thick with sarcasm. His voice doesn’t give away any hint if he got the irony or just decided to ignore it. 

"I mean I'm not here to impress them with my looks so it shouldn't matter anyway. But it can't hurt to look a bit nice to lure out some donations, right?"

"Sure, pity money is as good as any."

"You got it." Clicking his tongue the guy salutes with two fingers against his temples and flashes him a grin, then he twirls around and walks over to the stage door where one of the bustling PR interns hurries over him; probably to send him away from the looks of it. There is a short moment of head shakes, hand waving and more blinding, charming smiles, but Auston is too far away to hear what they're saying. 

"I see you found some entertainment while you waited." 

Willy's words rip Auston out of his thoughts, distract him enough to finally avert his eyes and look at his friend. He has no idea when he arrived or how much he saw. Probably enough judging by the wide grin. 

"Other people say _sorry_ if they make me wait 15 minutes."

"Patty and I aren't _other_ people. Who's the guy? He's cute." 

Auston rolls his eyes. Sometimes it's just better to ignore Willy completely. So he nods towards Patty, who's a few steps behind William, dressed casually and elegantly as usual, smiling softly at both of them and not the slightest bit bothered at all by their late arrival. 

"Sorry, there was heavy traffic on—"

"Queen, I know."

"Don't worry, Patty, Auston found a nice distraction." William gestures in the direction of the door where the skater boy is sending Auston a final smile before he disappears in the building. Patty watches them with an amused look that he would probably bestow on his bickering kids before indicating that they should move on so as to not be even later. Auston and Willy both stay behind Patty he approaches the stage door, and apologizes to the lady from Sick Kids for being late.

"Didn't know you're into cute ones,” Willy teases.

"That’s because I’m not." 

_"Please."_

"You should've seen his abs." It gives Auston a small amount of satisfaction to say it; he knows that his smile is probably smug, but doesn't even pretend to hide it.

Willy squeaks, looking Auston up and down, whistling as if Auston had just confessed to a quickie with Ariana Grande. 

"We keep you waiting ten minutes and you manage to get a guy half-naked. Impressive. Even for you." 

"He changed right in front of me, I didn't do anything." 

It’s obvious that Willy wants to add something but Patty waves them over to the entrance, and Auston just grins and walks over without waiting for Willy’s reply. 

Auston's life. 

__

He sees the guy again the second they enter the huge conference room that’s hosting the charity gala. 

Standing on the small stage with a man maybe Patty's age, and showing a video and talking about a foundation called Boarding House that they apparently represent. Auston tries to pay attention but is quickly distracted when Willy hands him his phone, playing a muted youtube clip that is way more interesting than the one on the big screen. 

It shows a skate park, all concrete and graffiti walls, various steps, handrails, and ramps, before the camera zooms in on the guy zipping through various obstacles with breathtaking speed. He flips the skateboard and lands right back on it with a graceful bow of his lanky body, before gathering some speed to take on the handrail that he slides down standing upright with arms stretched, not even swaying or fighting for balance—as if gravity means nothing to him, while his eyes find the camera with an expression of pure joy. 

It's magnetic to watch and even more so when the guy finally makes it to the big bowl, only circling it at first, then starting with simpler tricks, grabbing the lip and turning the board before getting to more complicated and dangerous-looking flips and high jumps where he twists the board twice in the air or spins it around his own body before landing back on it safely. 

It's magnetic and Auston doesn't realize that he has almost stopped breathing when the three minute clip is finished with a close up of the guy's face, almost unflatteringly close, focusing on his nose which is slightly too big and too crooked. But somehow the only thing Auston can see is bright blue eyes and the huge lopsided smile that radiates unadulterated delight. 

" _Impressive_ ," Willy breathes. 

Although something about his expression tells Auston that he's talking not only about the clip but also the look on Auston's face. 

__

That night Auston learns that there are many things about Mitch Marner that are impressive. 

For one, he’s confident and cocky and always laughing—not caring at all that his mouth is too big and his teeth are crooked. He can also use that mouth to kiss Auston like he hasn't been kissed in a long time—wet and deep and soft at the same time, tasting of sparkling wine and bitter gin tonic that they sold for horrendous prices at the donation gala. And he's just as flexible and deft as the video promised—laid on Auston's bed with hips spread wide and spine arched to look back at him. 

Everything about him is open and inviting, unashamed and free. 

And Auston can’t do anything but lean in, lean closer and _take_. 

Can’t do anything but press himself against Mitch's back, press him down into the sheets to lick and bite at the pale skin of his throat, neck, and back. Tasting and sucking bruises into the pale skin until Mitch is laughing and pushing him away. Not angry at all, only amused.

Can’t do anything but drag his fingers down the curve of Mitch's back, over each and every single vertebra right towards his tailbone and then further down between his ass, even paler than the rest of his upper body, relishing in the giggles when he finds a ticklish spot and the pleas when Auston does nothing but stare down at Mitch and brush his hand over the soft skin of his taint and hole. 

Can’t do anything but push himself into Mitch's body and gasp in surprise because he is so very tight. Hotter and tighter than he expected, making Auston wonder absently if he has ever done this before, until Mitch gasps and curses and rubs his ass against Auston's groin and every coherent thought flies right out of the window as he slides in the last two inches and is completely surrounded by—and surrounding—Mitch. 

Everything is so deep and so slow at the beginning. Not soft, not soft at all—but intense in a comforting and thrilling way. And then it builds up to harder and faster thrusts, causing Mitch to pant and moan and babble strings of words that are all nonsensical, but totally work for Auston and turn him on so much that he has to shut him up because he's too afraid that he would come immediately otherwise. 

He doesn’t. But he doesn't last as long as he would have liked, drinking up Mitch's blissed-out chuckles while he apologizes after. While he snuggles close, and settles into Auston's arms with his head against his chest, peppering little pecks over his collarbone. 

Auston doesn't ask him to stay and Mitch doesn't ask him if he could, only explains that he needs to leave early in the morning. 

__

And he is really gone when Auston wakes up; warm and sweaty and spread on his bed, arms empty but smiling as he shuts his eyes again to conjure up the images of last night, soaking in the memories until his alarm goes off at nine. 

Smiling even more when he finds the little note sticking on the bathroom mirror with a phone number.

_'Had lots of fun last night. Call me if you want a repeat. XOXO_.'

He doesn't even think and saves it, scribbling down _'same'_ underneath it before snapping a pic of the post-it and sending it to Mitch.

__

They don't text much because Auston isn't the type who spends hours on the phone, doesn’t constantly message and update friends via text. He isn't like that with most of his friends and family and especially not when it comes to hookups. 

Apparently, Mitch isn't either; because the only text he gets after a few on the first day is a thumbs up followed by a smiley to Auston's invitation to come over when he's back from the road trip to Dallas and Florida. 

They have sex on Auston's couch, his luggage still waiting unpacked in the hallway next to Mitch's converse sneakers and backpack with the helmet attached. His flight had been delayed and they’d met by accident in front of Auston's building. Normally this would result in an awkward elevator ride: him standing quietly, and listening to the girl of the month babble about her day, her studies or her waitress job. With Mitch, it had been pretty similar, given the only time he stops speaking is during sleep… and yet. It had been _different_. 

They have sex on Auston’s couch. Mitch pushing him down and climbing onto his lap with more strength and determination than Auston expected and is used to. It’s the hottest thing he’s experienced in a long time, and it turned him on so much that his fingers slipped from Mitch’s zipper and it took three attempts to get Mitch out of the hoodie. It made him bite down hard on his lower lip to keep himself from actually saying anything, from moaning out loud or losing his focus completely. 

They have sex on Auston's couch. And then again in the kitchen, when Auston put his phone down after ordering sushi, with Mitch kneeling in front of him, pressing his face against Auston's hips, licking and nibbling his way down for one hell of a blowjob that makes Auston see stars. It leaves them both breathless and Auston’s skin so sensitive that he's ready to go again for another round right then. But Mitch’s cheeks and lips look so red and tempting he needs to kiss him instead. So he pulls Mitch to his feet and kisses him, moaning at the taste of himself on those soft, full lips. 

Everything about Mitch is easy. The way he drops to his knees for Auston and the way he backs Auston against the wall to kiss him breathless. The way he laughs afterward when he's still wet from the shower, picking up his clothes and getting dressed. The way he doesn't linger around, biding his time or hoping for another date. He only tousles his hand through Auston's hair and leaves, shirt still damp from his skin. 

Everything about Mitch is so easy that it's easy for Auston to settle into something… a habit, a routine almost—where they trade short messages whenever he's in Toronto and then at night Mitch comes over to his place. Usually dressed in the same attire; baggy jeans and oversized hoodies, carrying his skateboard and helmet, cheeks flushed from the crisp November air. Sometimes they have dinner together before or after tumbling to the bed or couch, but more often Mitch shows up so late that they’ve both already eaten. Sometimes Mitch stays the night and they fall asleep with Mitch draped around him, nose pressed into Auston's shoulder blades, passed out before Auston has even set the alarm for the next day. Most of the time Mitch leaves right after because he has to get up early. 

They don't talk much, Auston thinks. Until he notices one day that they talk plenty, it just doesn’t feel like it because it's never awkward, never about things he doesn't want to talk about, never boring small talk or the getting-to-know-each-other quiz show that he hates on dates. Maybe because they’ve always been aware that it's not a relationship that they're looking for. Mitch never asks questions, never asks for anything, never bothers him with personal stuff that Auston finds annoying. 

__

"Sorry, I'm late." Mitch pants the second Auston opens the door and almost flinches back because Mitch is leaning against the door frame and is so much closer than he expected. 

"You told me it could get late."

"Not that late… and I know how much you appreciate punctuality."

"And I know how much of a mess you are, so." Auston shrugs before stepping aside to let Mitch in. It's true, he doesn't mind, didn't have anything planned except for watching tape and skyping with Bree. Almost didn't even notice that it was way past the time Mitch wanted to arrive. _Almost_. 

"Sorry, the shoot went on longer and then the producers wanted to talk about some music video job where I could get in…" Mitch kicks his sneakers off and drops his backpack right where he's standing before stumbling and falling back against the closed door. 

"Don't worry about it. Are—are you okay?"

"Yeah, just… a little bit tired." 

Auston takes him in and notices for the first time and with slight surprise that Mitch indeed looks tired. _Really_ _tired_. There are literal bags under his eyes and his skin looks almost ashy against the dark green of his jacket: no red cheeks, no wide smile, no bright blue delight shining at him. He frowns. 

"You don't look okay." 

"It was just a long day."

He starts to unbutton the jacket, fingers pale and bony and clumsy enough that Auston wants to step up to him and help him. Instead he puts some distance between them, and walks over to the kitchen so he doesn't do something stupid like gathering Mitch into his arms and kissing the shadows under his eyes, or whispering sweet reassuring words into his ear. Or just… standing there and watching him, making sure he is indeed okay. 

"Are you hungry?" 

"I'm always hungry." 

Well… yeah. Mitch _is_ always hungry. 

"How hungry are you right now on a scale from 1 to starving?" 

"Famished actually. Haven't eaten since breakfast, I think." 

Mitch follows him almost soundlessly, feet bare, but still in his thick cozy sweater as he leans against the counter, accepting the glass of water with a thankful nod before resting his head on Auston’s shoulder while Auston reads him the options on Uber Eats. 

"Are you okay with Thai? I think that's the fastest option." 

“Are _you_ okay with Thai?” 

"It’s past 11 pm, I had dinner ages ago." Auston scrolls through the menu and adds everything to his cart that makes Mitch smile: spring rolls, shrimp soup, Thai chicken wings, beef massaman… It's almost cute how he lights up during the process, how he actually sighs when Auston places the order before leaning in and pulling his face down to kiss him deeply. No hesitation, no distraction, no playing around. 

A long deep kiss with hands in Auston's hair, lips crashing against his mouth, tongue sliding in, plundering and taking. Electrifying and calming at the same time. Auston had been looking forward to this moment, to this touch since he got back two days ago, since he left for NY five days ago and said goodbye to Mitch in the early hours before dawn—parting on the safe side of his entrance door with sleepy smiles. And it's even better than he had imagined while he was lying in the darkness of his hotel room and this morning in the shower. Because it's different when he can actually feel the warm metal of Mitch's tongue piercing against the roof of his mouth, can taste the cinnamon of his gum and the cherry flavour of his chapstick, when he can suck on the plush bottom lip and savour the little happy moans he gets in return. 

It's different. And so much better. 

With Mitch's body pressed against his, hard and warm under layers of fabric. With blue eyes and fluttering dark lashes when he opens his own again. With the elated laugh that pearls like bubbles of sparkling water between them—only for a second until they are locked again in a tight embrace and they have to stop to catch their breath. 

But instead of moving back and pressing himself against Auston, Mitch steps away and makes his way to the bedroom, peels off his thick navy sweater and drops it on the hardwood floor.

"What are you doing?"

"Isn't it obvious?" 

"It is, and I'm not complaining, but I thought you were hungry."

Another laugh, open and amused and so, _so_ addictive. 

"I am, but not only for food." 

The shirt goes next, wrinkled and soft looking when it lands on the threshold. It's a trail and an invitation that Auston doesn't need to follow him. Leaning against the door frame he watches Mitch undress without any finesse and without any hesitation at all. 

It's not new: the sight of Mitch walking around his bedroom naked, aware that Auston's eyes are always on him. Moving with the casual confidence of a young man who is in good shape, without putting effort into his appearance at all, who dresses just to be dressed, not to look nice, and who radiates a carelessness that Auston probably will never have; he almost admires him for it. 

It's not new, not anymore: the sight of Mitch's gangly limbs, of his lean muscles that hold a strength that was once surprising but is now only welcome. Pale from winter, and even paler in the twilight of the bedroom with its walls of glass revealing the black pillars of the skyscrapers around them. There are thousands of illuminated windows and blinking colourful lights on top of the buildings—the bustle of a city that is too big to ever sleep and that’s cold and anonymous, yet comforting just because of that. 

The only other source of light is the automatic downlights in the walk-in closet. It makes Mitch's lines even sharper, harder, paints one half of his body with warmth while the other is almost hidden in shadows as he turns around and comes to stand in front of Auston. 

"Are you okay? Is… is this okay or are you tired?" There is something like concern in Mitch’s voice, a cautious hesitation that stops him from closing the distance and pressing himself against Auston. 

"I'm good." 

"I can leave if you're not in the mood anymore… I know it's super late and I probably should've checked before coming over."

"I said I'm good, and I'm definitely in the mood." Auston laughs. He's 22 and he can still count the days he's not in the mood for sex on one hand. Especially when he knows that they will soon have another road trip coming up and it's the only time he can see Mitch before that. Especially when he knows that it will be good. 

So good. Heart speeding and mind-blowing good. 

"Just like looking at you." 

"Jeez, Aus, be careful. I could think you're becoming romantic." 

"Have no fear, my darling. That'll never happen."

Mitch laughs, that wide and open thing that lights up his whole face. The one that makes Auston want to say stupid things to try and elicit it. 

(He always laughs like this when he's happy and free, and Auston likes knowing this.)

He sneaks his arm around Mitch's waist, pulls him in; naked against his fully clothed body, revels in the shiver that runs through Mitch; feels it running down his back like pearls of rain on a window. The skin underneath his hands is warm—almost hot, and he can't wait to have it against his own. Can't wait for Mitch's fingers to start undressing him, to sneak into his pants or unbutton his shirt while he cradles his face in his hands to tilt it back so he can kiss him better. 

Kissing Mitch was a revelation—still is a revelation. 

(He had thought the newness would wane, would stop being so addictive. He was wrong.) 

There is something about the way Mitch immediately opens up, gives in, gives everything he has. It makes Auston want to lick deeper into his mouth, to lick every distracting taste away until Mitch is the only thing he can taste. 

The way he exhales little sighs and smiles the second they break apart to breathe. 

The way he immediately follows Auston's mouth right afterward and goes onto his tippy toes—as if he feels just the same. 

Kissing Mitch is the reason Auston stops him before he can go down onto his knees and pull down the sweats. Before he can get out Auston's dick and blow him.

It won't be enough now.

It has never been enough. 

"Food's probably here soon. At least one of us should be dressed then." 

"They said 40 minutes. I usually don't need that much time to get you off." 

It's true. 

And it's tempting. 

But it's not about that. Not today. 

"I'm not an appetizer. I'm a five-course meal." 

"Ugh… and there goes my boner." Mitch sighs dramatically and falls back down onto his feet. "Honestly that was sooo bad. I hope you never try that on anyone else." 

But then he can't keep up the charade and breaks out in bright laughter, almost giggling. Fingertips brush over Auston's chest as he turns away to the walk-in closet to snatch one of Auston's sweatpants and shirts before coming back for more kisses. 

(The hard-on that presses against Auston's thigh betrays his lie.) 

__

Kissing Mitch shouldn't be better than getting sucked off. Especially since Auston knows that he can have both. That he can have Mitch on his knees right now and later on his back. While he fucks him and touches him as much as he wants. While he kisses his fill, while he inhales his cherry cinnamon scent and presses himself against him so tightly that they both feel the beat of their pounding hearts in their chests.

__

Kissing Mitch shouldn't be the last thing he does before he falls asleep next to him. Both of them naked, skin hot from the shower and cheeks still flushed from sex. But Auston can't help it, acts out of pure instinct when he finds him in his bed after switching off the lights in his condo—already almost passed out and his hair a tangled wet mess, smelling of Auston's shampoo. And the little smile that twitches in the corner of Mitch's mouth is totally worth it, the hand that drops the phone and reaches for him… the fleeting touch against his fingertips. 

It's totally worth the palpitations of his heart while he lies in the darkness, unable to sleep while he listens to Mitch's even breathing and counts the flickers of incoming messages on Mitch's phone. 

~~Trying not to wonder who's texting him that much in the middle of the night. Trying not to grab the device and find out.~~

__

Kissing Mitch shouldn't be the first thing that he misses after they part in his hallway the next morning. Both of them tired and deprived of coffee barely functioning at all, both of them quiet. Auston usually doesn't get up to say goodbye, doesn't know why he did it, why he didn't stay in bed and listen to Mitch getting dressed and brushing his teeth in the master bathroom; why he didn't wait with closed eyes for the goodbye kiss that Mitch sometimes presses softly upon his cheek or forehead while Auston pretends to still be asleep. 

But he did. And now he's having trouble forgetting about it. To remember what this was all about. 

Fun. Convenience. And amazing sex. 

It wasn't meant to be anything else. 

It definitely shouldn’t be the reason that Auston doesn't hook up when they go out for drinks after they shut out the Habs at home at the beginning of December, not even tempted to follow a scarcely clad blond onto the dancefloor. Instead he’s comfortable and happy to just be around the team, too satisfied to feel the slightest itch or twitch in his stomach when she winks at him. 

Willy and Kappy give him looks that totally convey how crazy they think he is. 

"Are you sick, Aus? Or blind?!"

"I had three points. So I think it's safe to say there's nothing wrong with my eyes." 

"Yeah, that's why we're worried." 

With a shrug, he pulls out his phone. "If you like her that much you should go cheer her up." 

"Nah, I don't like being the second prize, but dude, honestly, have you seen her?!" 

"Drop it, Kap, he's getting some later, I bet." Willy nudges him, tries to sneak a peek into Auston's screen. "Aren't you?"

"Maybe." 

There's no text from Mitch—because he's never the one initiating their meetings, it's always Auston. But Mitch almost never declines, will only suggest a later time or date if he's out of town for a skateboarding event or busy with Boarding House stuff. Another one of the reasons their thing is so convenient. But Auston had a three-point night and that should qualify at least for a short congratulation text that sometimes turns into a string of messages with little updates about his work, random comments about the tv show he was watching or some shit one of the kids from Boarding House came up with. It was random and entertaining, strangely cute and endearing and always made him smile. 

Tonight his screen is blank; or well, there are dozens of messages from family and friends, but—not the message he was waitingwishinghoping for. 

With a frown, he starts to type a short message, unsure of who he's angrier with: Mitch for not texting or himself for expecting him to. 

"Are you still dating the skater boy?" 

Auston doesn't even grace this with an answer. He doesn't _date_ people… William should know that better than anyone. Because it's not like they’re keeping a scoreboard or anything, but at least he's one of the few people who share the same convictions and aversions when it comes to anything resembling a relationship. They are too young, have too many responsibilities in their job to add another one. Instead, he angles his phone so that Willy can't see, and presses send.

"Oh my god, you are! Dude, that event was like… ages ago. And you're still seeing him?!"

"Can you please yell any louder, Will, I'm sure not everybody in here has heard you yet."

"Sorry…" He has the decency to at least look like he really is. "But that's probably the longest relationship you have had since I met you, so wow."

"It's not a relationship, Willy. We fuck." 

"You've never fucked someone for almost two months without seeing anyone else. And I know that you haven’t, so don't deny it." 

He may be right with that one. But that doesn't change how ridiculously wrong he is with everything else. 

"It's not a relationship," Auston repeats; half distracted because he can see his screen lighting up with an incoming message from the corner of his eyes. "I text him. He comes over. We fuck. He leaves. That's all. I don't know how your relationships work but the two I had before definitely didn't work like that." 

"Jeez, chill, that was just me sharing my observations… because you may not know it, but that could totally look like a relationship. And—you know how my relationships work." He wiggles his eyebrows. 

"Yeah, they don't. Which is why I'm totally ignoring you." He takes a sip of his drink, uses all his willpower to not pick up the phone and check it. 

"But honestly, have you picked up since you met him?"

"Yeah." It's a straight lie and the second he closes his mouth Auston knows that Willy knows. So he backpedals and corrects himself; anything to not give Willy more ammunition. "O—kay, maybe I didn't. But… honestly, the sex is just crazy good. I haven't needed to."

(Maybe this is too much, maybe he revealed too much, but sometimes you have to drop a little bomb to distract the monsters.)

Willy nods understandingly. 

"That's okay. I mean I… I've never—but I guess it's nice to have feelings—" 

"I. Don't. Have. Feelings." 

Auston's voice is tense, he can hear it while he speaks. But the idea is…ridiculous. Just because he likes to have sex with one particular person and because that sex is particularly good, that doesn't mean that he's caught feelings for that person. 

"It's just convenient." 

"Sure…" Willy trails off and nods again, raises his glass before grinning at Kappy opposite to him and then at Auston next to him. "So, if you're not feeling anything for Mitch… it shouldn't be a problem to go over to her and take her home. Because that look—" he gestures towards Auston's face. "That look tells me you need to get laid tonight." 

It's a dare, even if it's a hidden one. 

And Auston is never one to back down from that. He felt perfectly at ease a couple of minutes ago but now… be it Willy's words, or the talking about getting his dick wet. Or the fact that Mitch still hasn't replied… He suddenly feels heavy with excitement, with restlessness—as if he took hot and cold showers after a hard workout: heart beating madly in his chest, his skin crawling and his spine tingling. 

He gets up without wasting another thought about it, without even meeting Willy's sly expression or listening to Kappy's surprised inhale.

The girl is still on the dancefloor; long curls bobbing under the dim lights, really blond against the darker surroundings. Left shoulder exposed where her top slid down, revealing the lacy strap of her bra. She really is pretty, with nice curves in a tiny jean skirt and black-rimmed glasses. Auston must have been too blind to see her appeal before—distracted by something he couldn’t have. Too distracted to see what he could have. 

The wide smile she shows him the second he makes his way to the dancefloor is cute, it’s tempting and so enticing that he knows she has already forgiven him for declining her before, that he could just lean into her neck and whisper a catchy compliment about the shape of her lips or some excuse about being too stunned to catch up with her flirting… It would be so easy.

And it is. 

Just as easy as he imagined. 

She giggles; sweet and playful, a little bit flushed but mostly flattered while she tugs a strand of hair behind her ear, inviting him to lean in, to bring his face close to her skin and slide his lips over her neck. 

It's so easy that he doesn't even understand why he was so hesitant about it. It's so easy to slide his arm around her body and touch the small of her back, feel the warmth of her skin through the flimsy fabric of her shirt, watch eyes widen before she presses herself close against his chest and puts her hands around his face. 

It’s easy until his nose brushes over the spot below her ear, until he inhales her scent that is all flowers and roses and too heavy, too much—almost making him choke. And then he pictures taking her home to his apartment, her heels clicking on his hardwood floors, her clothes flung around his bedroom with its walls of glass, her body tangled in his messy sheets. Pictures them together in the reflection of the windows, the lipstick marks on his cheeks and on the white of his cushion. Tastes the greasy artificial flavour on his tongue that doesn't have a hint of cherry and cinnamon. 

Remembers the post-its that Mitch left for him on the fridge and the coffeemaker, on the shower door and the drawer with his boxers. 

(The one he stuck right to Auston's forehead, that he found wrinkled and smudged when he opened his eyes, probably long after Mitch must have left.) 

"Glad you changed your mind." She whisper-screams into his ear, breath hot. There is an accent he can't place - maybe Eastern-European, a strange rhythm and odd pronunciation. 

"Sorry, love." He's surprised about how easy it is. To detach himself from her and bring distance between them. "But my friend over there at the table… he'd love to dance with you. I know he looks like a dork, but he's really nice when he doesn't hang out with our other idiot friend."

__

When he steps out of the club and into the cold December night it's snowing—real snow, not the freezing rain that Toronto gets a lot of the time. Real snow: thick and beautiful white flakes that fall slowly and dance in the orange glow of the street lights, that melt the second they hit the ground because no matter how cold Auston thinks it is it's still too warm for it to settle. He pulls his jacket around him, burrows his chin deeper in the warm scarf while he scans the area for a cab. 

It's still early, so he doesn't have to wait too long and it's only a short ride home, but the whole time his phone is vibrating like crazy in his pocket. He feels strangely calm and satisfied, totally at ease… and at the same time lonely. So very lonely while he watches couples huddled under umbrellas or small groups of friends crossing the street while the cab waits at a traffic light. This is his city—the city that chose him and that he chose… he loves it, feels safe here, at home. Just like he feels alienated, like the foreigner that he is. 

Neon lights and contrasts of black and white, softened by the heavy snowfall. Reflecting puddles on the sidewalk and shimmering windows of high rises. Pillars of white steam rising from the vents of the subway and dull concrete walls mixed with the stony swirls of art nouveau and neoclassicism. The ugly and massive but beautiful iconic needle of the CN Tower that is visible from every corner and every angle, today illuminated in white and blue to celebrate their big win. 

A compass needle, a symbol of home—right from the beginning. 

When he's in the entrance hall of his apartment building, he gives in and reaches for his phone. He ignores all of Willy's and Kappy's messages, scrolls through the slightly worried ones from his other teammates without answering them until he finally _finally_ finds the one he was waiting for. 

Nothing but a string of exclamation marks and smiling emojis. And then heart-eyes. So very Mitch. 

Maybe only meant for his hockey and not Auston, but it’s everything he could hope for and the motivation he needs to type out a short message. 

A **: __** _wanted to hook up tonight. Blond, gorgeous and an amazing booty. But I couldn't because I kept thinking of u_. -

Maybe he's drunker than he thought. He wouldn't have sent something like that otherwise. Something that honest, something that desperate. 

Yet when he steps into his apartment and takes in the pile of plates in the open kitchen, the yellow post-its that are still stuck where Mitch left them four days ago… The rain pants in the hallway closet that Mitch forgot two weeks ago… the clothes scattered on the floor of his walk-in. 

Auston can't bring himself to regret his last text; even if it was maybe too honest, too open, too real. 

But all the proof and hints Mitch left for him in his apartment are just the same. 

And the reply he finds after brushing his teeth and sliding under the covers ten minutes later is the only reward that he wanted and needed. 

M: _Sorry. Not sorry. -_

The sheets don't smell of flowers; they don't smell sweet at all. They smell sharp—of soap and sweat and deodorant. They still smell of Mitch and that’s enough for him to bury his face in them, to make him feel bolder than ever. 

A: _You owe me an orgasm. -_

M: _Sorry, still not sorry. -_

A: _You should be. -_

Auston is still staring at his phone waiting for a text so the incoming call stuns him so much he needs a couple of moments to answer. Mitch's voice is quiet, hoarse, slurring a little. As if he just woke up or just gave a blowjob. It's enough for Auston to shiver and press his groin against the mattress, suddenly feeling aroused and needy, not just excited and on the edge like before. 

"I don't like being in someone's debt." Mitch chuckles. There is the sound of sheets rustling in the background, bare feet, and the cracking of floorboards; a door being opened quietly followed by a hushing exhale as if he's trying to shut someone up. Auston listens to his heartbeat inside his empty chest until finally, Mitch is back on the phone, talking to him. "So… what are you wearing?" 

It's so ridiculous that Auston actually snorts. But it's also so _Mitch_ that he suddenly really _really_ wishes he was right next to him, not just a voice on the phone. 

A voice that softly whispers about all the things Mitch wants to do to him right now. 

A voice that gets deeper and darker by the minute and with every gasp and groan he gets out of Auston. 

A voice that is almost breathless and wrecked, almost breaks into a whimper after Auston has come. That gives away how close Mitch is himself and that completely trails off when he comes too. 

"I'm not sure if that actually counts… I mean I did all the work by myself."

"Consider it as a prepayment. Next time we see each other I’ll get you off so good you'll see stars. 

__ 

The next morning Auston wakes up relaxed and warm as if he had ten hours of sleep. Leftover images of his dream blur in front of his eyes, giving way to the sunlit walls of his bedroom and the glittering white snow on the windowsill. 

Until he realizes that he's alone and even the memory of the phone sex last night is tainted by the lie Mitch told him before. 

__

Never before had Auston really paid attention to Mitch's texts. Or he did… but he didn’t notice how vague they became sometimes. Going back through their messages he realizes there are two different kinds: the ones with long excuses and explanations about why he couldn't come over to meet Auston (talking to some kids at Boarding House, skateboarding lessons, interviews and photoshoots for a magazine, flatmate meetings, helping out his friend in his shop…), and then there are just as many that are nothing but short and stiff declines. 

M: _Sorry, can't 2night_. -

A: _Uhh, tmrw?_ -

M: _Not today, sorry_. -

Deceptive and disappointing. So very not-Mitch. 

Just like the one he got yesterday afternoon when Auston asked him out for dinner after the game. 

And suddenly he also remembers the background noises - or the lack of them - on the phone call yesterday. The fact that Mitch wasn't out, at least not at a party or over at Boarding House, that he sounded like he just woke up and slipped out of bed as quietly as possible—without attracting attention, without waking someone up. 

Someone who was in bed with him. 

__

The realization sits wrong in his stomach and tastes bitter on his tongue while Auston sips his coffee leaning against the counter. The yellow of the post-it seems to mock him and the happiness he felt when he woke up this morning disappears at the sight of the scrawled handwriting and lopsided smiley face that holds so much of Mitch's personality, his never-ending energy and joy—his playful and open honesty that always seemed so real; the exclamation marks and XOXO's that became a trademark signature of his notes, his affection, and spirit. 

Auston wants to rip it off, crumple it in his hand and throw it away, along with the other notes that are still gathered in his apartment. 

The only reason he doesn't is the cold knowledge that this should be nothing but convenient. That they fuck ~~like bunnies~~ and then Mitch leaves. And as much as Auston thought he has learned about him, how well he has gotten to know all about Mitch's habits and preferences… it's nothing and doesn't mean anything, and he wanted it that way. 

__

_Maybe you’re right,_ he texts Willy later. Because as much as he hates admitting it, Willy is his best friend and the only one he can tell. 

Auston stares at the dots that immediately appear while Willy types his - no doubt - mocking reply. 

A: _But it doesn’t matter since he’s seeing someone else_. -

Because Auston has been thinking about this the whole morning and nothing else makes sense to him. 

W: S _hit. You’re sure_? -

A: _Think so, yeah_. -

W: _Just because he’s not answering one time_? -

A: _It's not that, it's… just a feeling_. -

W: _Gonna talk to him about it? -_

_No, why?_ Auston frowns. _It's not like we ever talked about being exclusive._

W: _To know where he stands_? -

A: _What's the point? I mean, it's not like I can date him_. -

This time it takes Willy almost a minute until his reply comes in and Auston prepares himself for a long lecture about the league’s progress in the last couple of years and the support he would receive from all of them. But everything he finally gets is just a short _shit, I'm sorry_.

__

So he ignores it. Suppresses the thought whenever it appears and laughs about Mitch's silly memes that he sends him and or argues with him about the best power-play unit. 

It's as easy as ever. 

__

As easy as putting on a smile the next time he opens his door to Mitch and lets him step into his apartment. 

It's a cold cold night—the coldest so far this winter and it’s been snowing since Auston got back from practice. The soft big flakes that he always dreamed about as a kid after watching Christmas movies. They enhance Toronto's grey mundanity with something magical—a dystopian version of a fairytale that makes him fall in love again with the city and mellows the nervous restlessness he has been feeling the whole evening. 

Mitch is dripping wet, with droplets of melting snow clinging to his hair and eyelashes, with red cheeks and lips and blue eyes that startle Auston's heart so much that it's almost painful. Beating fast inside his chest, and heavy with so much longing. 

~~He missed him~~. 

But then Mitch is pressed against him, nose and chin icy cold, mouth stiff and fingertips spreading shivers along the small of Auston's back where they slipped under his sweater and upwards to his shoulder blades. It's only been twelve days. 

~~Twelve days~~. 

But then Mitch's tongue is inside his mouth; hot and sweet and tasting of cinnamon. And his dick is already half hard in his too-thin cargo pants, rubbing over Auston's thigh and making him gasp and smile. 

~~Twelve days are four more than they ever went without seeing each other~~.

But then Mitch stops mid-kiss and laughs; this bright and delighted thing, almost childlike and so pure that Auston can't breathe for a second, can't control his reactions and actions, and he starts to fumble for the zipper of the parka, yanking it down so fast he almost rips it before tearing and pushing to get Mitch out of it. Not wasting another moment before grabbing the seam of the sweater and just pulling it over Mitch's head along with the shirt underneath it until Mitch is finally bare in front of him; all pale skin, soft but lean muscles, tousled hair, and flushed cheeks. 

He's breathing just as fast as Auston, eyes almost black in the dimmed lights of his hallway, lashes fluttering as he guides Auston's hands down so that they can both work on opening his pants and dragging them down so fast and clumsily that it's probably painful against his erection because Mitch hisses, shuts his eyes but immediately opens them again while he steps out of them and gathers Auston's face in his hands to nip playfully at his upper lip, sighing between every single lick and bite.

As if Auston is the best thing he ever tasted, a delicate dessert that he can't get enough of and he protests the second Auston tries to detangle himself and gather his breath—lean back and take in the sight of Mitch all naked and flushed and so aroused that they don't even make it to the couch in the living room. Instead, he just brings his leg up and winds it around Auston's back, presses himself so impossibly close as if he never wants to part again. 

"Wow… someone apparently missed me." 

It's almost an instinctive motion for Auston to lift Mitch, to wrap his thighs around his waist and push him against the door while Mitch's fingers sink into the flesh of Auston's shoulders, almost so painful and possessive that he hisses. But not as painful and possessive as Mitch's lips on his neck, the teasing bite of his teeth around his earlobe. 

"Yeah, _of course_. Now shut up and fuck me." 

(This is familiar territory, this is what Auston can handle.)

This is easy. Easier than thinking about Mitch seeing someone else, or how he feels about that. How it annoys him and how much he wants to tell him not to. And do this for real. 

It is easy. Even more so when they are on the couch together afterward; Mitch's legs draped over Auston's thighs, dressed in Auston's sweatpants and shirt while feeding him occasionally from his pepperoni pizza that is so spicy that Auston had to actually cough when he took the first bite. They are half-heartedly watching the Kings beat the Jets—a game Auston should probably pay more attention to since they play them soon, but he’s too distracted by the story Mitch is telling him about a young girl he's currently skateboarding with and who showed up two times in a row with bruises and limping. 

Auston can see that the story clearly troubles Mitch, that he's deeply worried about the girl and desperately trying to get through to her, to convince her that Boarding House could provide the protection and safety she needs. 

"… but I mean, in the end, I can't force her, I can just be there for her and hope she trusts me enough to show up every week so that I at least make sure she's kind of okay." He puts the pizza down, wipes his hands on the napkin before he leans back against the armrest. 

"You're doing great work with them." Because he can't say much else here. Because he knows it's the truth. From everything he has heard so far, from everything he has observed in Mitch's face the last half an hour and all those weeks before: he cares a lot about these kids, every single one of them. Auston has noticed that a lot of them text him when they need help or just someone to listen—even in the middle of the night. Even when Mitch feels that he's not doing enough. 

"I wish I could do more for her." 

Auston watches him, tries to smile to lighten the mood because Mitch being sad… it's not what he wants. Not because this thing is supposed to be convenient and easy, or because their private life and their sorrows don't have a place between them. Only because he wants to see Mitch's smile, wants to hear his laughter, his dumb jokes, feel the joy and delight spreading in his whole body whenever he looks into his eyes. 

"She'll come around and open up… just give her time and be yourself. Take care of her the way you're doing so far." 

Mitch shrugs, awkward and a bit sad until he visibly startles and pulls himself together, angling his head and forcing a smile. It's just a few seconds and then the moment is gone and Mitch is really smiling, the happiness is back in place and—

Auston is stunned. Shocked. And _hurt_. That Mitch apparently thinks he has to hide a part of him, that he has to wear a mask around Auston. 

But he can't think of anything to say, so he just pulls Mitch up and onto his lap, drinks in the breathless giggle this action elicits and kisses the greasy lips and licks the taste of tomatoes from his mouth. 

Swallows all the thoughts running through his head so that he doesn't accidentally spill them. Lets himself get distracted from Mitch's enthusiasm, from the shape of his smile against his mouth, from the weight of his body and the smooth expanse of his back when Auston slips his fingers under the shirt he stole from Auston before. 

__

A: _Are you free next weekend_? -

M: _Yeah, you're in town_? -

A: _3 days off_. -

M: _Lucky you_. -

It's a Tuesday morning and way too early for Auston's liking. He usually hates those flights, the hustle and bustle of Pearson, especially this close to Christmas. But Zach brought him and Freddie a grande mocha with two extra shots of espresso and one of the gingerbread cake pops that look ridiculous but taste amazing; the light streaming in through the high windows is soft and golden and so far no one has bothered him with stupid questions yet. It's a good morning. Made even better by the fact that it's their last trip before the holidays and they are still first in the Eastern conference, no one is hurt and Auston is scoring as if his life depends on it. 

It's good. 

Finding Mitch's message when he got up this morning was also good, part of the reason he gave in to this whim and asked Naz about his cottage. 

_One of my friends got a cottage at Lake Huron. Come away with me_. Auston types. And maybe his coffee hasn't kicked in yet, or maybe it's the festive mood with all the fairy lights and the soft music… maybe it's Willy's constant meddling that he should talk to Mitch. He doesn't know, but he knows he pressed 'send' without thinking and now this stupid message is out there for Mitch to see and Auston has absolutely no idea why his text sounds like a love song but he wants to hit himself. (Or Willy, because it’s clearly his fault.) 

Instead he adds something about a jacuzzi, to make it clear romance is the last thing the trip is about. ~~Because it isn't. He just wants more time with Mitch, carved out of their crazy daily schedule so that he can finally have so much of him that he gets bored, that it's maybe finally enough to stop all these confusing feelings~~. 

But the reply is short and vacuous as ever. 

A sad smiley followed by a short _sorry, I can't_. 

Wordlessly he shows his phone to Willy who first only raises an eyebrow but then dutifully scams over the messages, only to look at Auston and shrug. 

_What the fuck?_

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

Suddenly the fairytale lights of the Starbucks are mocking him, the soft festive tunes are too loud in his ears and Auston just wants to… throw his phone against the wall. He feels—he doesn't know how he feels; angry, definitely angry. Because they aren't exclusive; he's aware of that and okay with it, yet Mitch always gives him so much, obviously cares a lot about him, is so open around him that Auston can't imagine him hiding anything. Because they aren't exclusive and he's still lying and making Auston feel like a fool. 

_Or maybe because they aren't exclusive_. 

And Auston wants them to be. 

"Dude, you have to say something." Willy nudges him with his elbow; tone half worried, half pissed on Auston's behalf.

So it must be written all over his face, _great_. 

"What can I say?"

"You can't say anything. But you can end it because that," he gestures to Auston's face, "That's unhappiness and it doesn't go well with a Gucci suit."

Auston shakes his head—mostly because Willy is right. Mourning a relationship that wasn't even one is not his style. _Having a relationship_ in the first place is not his style. Yet he still has to know. 

A: _Are you fucking someone else? Bc, it's okay if you are, but don’t act like you’re not. I'm not stupid_. -

Then he mutes his phone and drops it into his bag. 

__

There are three messages on his phone when he gets it out in New York. 

M: _I’m not fucking anyone else. -_

M: _Come to my place when you’re back. -_

M: _I can explain everything_. - 

__

Auston doesn’t reply until he’s back in Toronto. Not a single time, because Mitch sends more messages, asking if Auston is angry, if he’s fine after the hit he received, and if Friday night still stands. 

(Yes)

(Mostly)

(Probably)

But he knows he is lying to himself because he won’t be able to _not_ go, he’s too curious about the explanation. And yet there’s something satisfying about making Mitch wait and getting anxious, about finding his messages in the morning—mostly sad or crying emojis, or a long drawn out _duuuude, say something please. I'm sorry._

Even though he never says what he is sorry for and Auston is sure that he doesn't even _know;_ that it's just an empty phrase. 

So he lets him wait. It's petty and childish, but revenge is sweet and Auston never claimed to be the grown-up in this _thing_. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty nervous about this chapter, especially since I got so many great comments for the first one about how excited you are where I'm taking this...  
> So this is where you gonna find out, and I hope it doesn't disappoint. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it. ♥

The neighbourhood is quiet and almost cute; rows of houses with little front yards and porches, some wrecked and in desperate need of repairs, with peeling paint and overgrown fences, others freshly renovated, brick rowhouses with wooden porches painted in bright colours with carefully tended flowerbeds and leafless crippled apple trees.

It’s one of Toronto's not yet hip, but definitely up and coming neighbourhoods where young married couples could buy affordable houses and build their hopes and dreams within and around them. One of Toronto's many neighbourhoods that Auston would probably have never seen if it weren't for the address Mitch had sent him this morning; he has never been this far east of Toronto's city center except when they played the Sens or the Habs. There are lots of Christmas decorations, little fairy lights slung around rails, huge lanterns with candles and golden stars dancing in the icy wind. 

In the darkness, everything looks a bit magical, enchanted. Like tiny castles, some of them abandoned and barren, some of them asleep, hibernating and waiting for their owners or spring. Some of them radiate warmth and life, promising a friendly welcome and laughter. 

But maybe these thoughts are just the result of his nervousness, while he tries his best to not slip on the sidewalk. It hasn't snowed since that last time Mitch had been over at his place, but after two days with temperatures in the forties and nasty rain, it had started to freeze again, turning every street and surface to a sheet of black ice. 

Auston pulls his scarf higher even though it's not far, it’s still too far for his liking. The uber driver had insisted on dropping him off on the corner and it wasn't worth fighting over something like this. 

Finally, he stands in front of No. 16, a small semi-detached house with a bright yellow door and a wooden navy railing along the porch. All the windows are brightly lit, and there are the typical fairy lights along on the porch, as well as illuminated Star Wars Christmas figurines lined up in the flower bed along the path that leads to the porch. There is a racing bike leaning against the railway and a skateboard next to the door right beside an old canopy swing. Everything gives off quirky vibes that remind him a lot of Mitch's liveliness and even if he wasn’t sure that this was the right house… he would have _known_. 

The sound of the doorbell is audible even to him, and he almost flinches in surprise. 

It's an unusual situation because normally he always knows what to expect, what will happen—at least kind of. But this time everything is blank; no expectations, nothing. Except seeing Mitch again. Listening to his explanation and then.

Making up with him. 

Staying in his room for the next three days since he already told Naz that he wouldn't need the cottage. But it's not like he's picky; a night in Mitch's bed is better than a night without Mitch at all. 

Before he can second guess himself, or before he can ring another time, the door opens and Auston is confused for about a moment, thinking that he got the wrong house after all. 

The little girl that has opened the door is maybe about five years old, although she seems very small and almost too slender. But then again, he knows next to nothing about kids apart from the stuff he picked up when spending time with Patty’s. 

She’s all wide smiles and bouncy excitement as if she waited eagerly for him all day. Her outfit is a crazy mix of floral patterns and stripes, very pink and girly and very cute, with a butterfly clip in her almost black hair. 

Auston jerks in surprise when she starts yelling for her dad and a second later there are hasty footsteps around the corner. 

"Hey, hey, Bella, what did we tell you about opening the door?" 

A young man appears next to the girl, clad in a pink frilly apron. Brown curls are falling into his eyes which have bags underneath them that put Auston’s to shame, even after a trip to the west coast. He looks as if he hasn’t slept in the last 48 hours, but he also has the wide astonished expression of someone who knows exactly who Auston is. 

Great. Just _great_. 

"What did we tell you about opening the entrance door, Ella-sweetie?" The guy repeats and pulls himself together, actually manages to make it look believable before he turns to the girl with a small frown and a chiding tone that is completely ruined by the way his hand goes immediately to the top of her head and tousles her hair. She doesn’t seem to be impressed at all. 

"But you were busy and, and I knew… that it's Auston. I didn't—I didn't wanted him to wait because you're so slow." Her eyes wander back and forth between Auston and the other young man. She looks slightly guilty but too excited to really hide it. 

From somewhere upstairs, he can hear Mitch's voice. 

"Okay, how about you come in first so we can close the door before it gets all cold?" The guy smiles, stepping aside and guiding the little girl to do the same. Auston tentatively follows them in and closes the door. He's not sure… about anything. Of course, he knew that Mitch had flatmates, caught it from various stories, but he didn’t know how many or that one of them had a kid. Or that he apparently told them about him. _Or what exactly he’d told them_. 

His heart is beating too loud and too fast inside his chest, and his face is probably giving away his hesitation and confusion, the slow return of the anger that he thought was gone. He tries to smile it away—if only because the little girl is now clinging to the guy’s legs and staring up at him shyly. 

A gesture probably just as awkward as he feels. 

Because this is not what he expected.

He pulls off his beanie and scarf before he crouches down to the little girl who suddenly seems struck by a flash of shyness and hides behind the guy’s legs, watching him with wide eyes. It’s one of the first things he learned when dealing with kids, and it’s enough to coax the smile back to her face. 

"Hi, I'm Auston." He holds out his hand and waits for her to grab it while also shooting a questioning gaze to the young man. 

"She's usually not that shy, just…" he shrugs. "Come on, Ella, introduce yourself. I'm Dylan, by the way." 

Auston nods, but doesn’t get up, stays on the girls level and waits for her to overcome the short moment of fear.

"I'm Ariella," she almost whispers. 

"Very nice to meet you, Ariella. I'm Auston." 

"I know." 

“Because Mitch told you about me?” He assumes, but it’s also to see Dylan’s reaction, to figure out how much he knows. 

She shakes her head. “Because Daddy told me about you. And you just said that that’s your name.” 

Dylan laughs out loud, brushes some strands of hair out of her face and reattaches the butterfly clip before he combs his own curls back; which is useless because they fall right back into his eyes. They look cute together, probably one of those father-daughter combos that would make young women swoon on the playground. Although there are not many physical similarities between them, their affection and love for each other are very obvious. 

Ariella’s eyes are light and blue; almost startling in her small face because her skin is warm and so much more tanned than Dylan’s, his hair is messy and frizzy while hers is shiny and straight, framing her face with a delicate bob. The only hint that they are related is probably the wide and beaming smile, but even that is off. She must take after her mum and he’s just about to tease Dylan for this when there are the loud footsteps of someone bolting down the wooden staircase. 

Auston is glad, thankful almost, to see that it’s Mitch this time. The only familiar thing, the only thing he’s used to and here for. 

But what he hasn't expected, what he's not here for is the way the girl turns towards Mitch and immediately throws herself at him: little arms going around his neck, legs around Mitch's waist, face pressed against his cheek. Or the way his face lights up and goes all soft at the same time. It’s a look that Auston has only seen directed towards him once or twice, but so often after Mitch has received a text. The reason that made him think that Mitch has someone else. (Is in love with someone else.)

And suddenly he understands. 

Mitch _does have_ someone else. 

A _girl_. A cute and adorable girl. A girl Auston can never compare with. 

And suddenly he feels sick. 

So sick he's afraid his legs won't carry him anymore or that he’s going to puke. It’s a shock, painful like a fist to his stomach; sharp and cold as he has felt only once in his life before—the day he fucked up his shoulder. 

Suddenly he can feel a soft touch against his upper arm and when he looks up, he finds Mitch’s eyes—pale and blue and just like Ariella’s. Can see that he is worried, that he’s unsure about what to say or do. That he is embarrassed, or maybe even ashamed. 

But it’s not enough. Not enough to make up for all the crazy ideas and feelings Auston has gone through in the last weeks. All the lies that he didn’t tell but all the deflections and deception he somehow made Auston believe. 

“We—there’s the…” Dylan interrupts his thoughts. “Ella, do you wanna help me with dinner so that daddy and Auston can talk a bit? You can choose the pasta sauce.”

Thankfully she nods and climbs over to Dylan’s arms, obviously unaware of the tension between Auston and her dad, as she happily chats about her favourite pasta sauce and wearing her own pink apron. 

Mitch gives Dylan a small thankful smile and kisses his daughter's cheek. 

“I’m sure it will be amazing, sweetie. We’ll come help in a second, okay?” 

Then he turns to Auston and the smile vanishes like a candle blown out by the wind. Then he turns to Auston and all the love disappears from his eyes and is replaced by insecurity. Then he turns to Auston and everything that he has learned about Mitch is gone and all that is left behind is this pleading and sad shell of him. 

“Aus… I—” He stammers, hands going up as if he wants to reach for Auston’s but then he only puts his arms around himself, averts his eyes and bites his lip while he gathers the courage to continue. 

It’s so satisfying that Auston almost feels guilty for putting him through this; but not guilty enough to stop it. 

“I’m sorry, I—I didn’t know how to tell you.” Mitch’s voice is quiet. “But you know, it was just supposed to be a one-time thing and there was no need. I mean, it didn’t matter because you’d never see her anyway and then when we… hooked up again and again—I got the impression that it was just for fun for you and that eventually, you’d stop calling me…” He trails off, shrugs. 

“But I didn’t.”

“No, you didn’t. And I didn’t want you to. But I was afraid it would be a reason to, so I... kept Ella out of my stories.” 

“You lied.”

“I didn’t!” For the first time, Auston can see a flash of anger, a hint of the temper that Mitch usually has. A shadow of the Mitch he’s used to. “I would never, _never_ lie about my girl. She’s... everything to me.” 

Auston doesn’t have to recall the pure affection on Mitch’s face when Ariella lunged into his arms to believe him. 

“So all the times you cancelled on me without any explanation…?”

“Were because of her. Because I couldn't get a babysitter; Dylan and the others are studying, Alex works a lot of overtime. And I want to be the one doing bedtime; it’s often enough that can’t.”

“I—” Auston is distracted by an excited high-pitched squeak from the direction of the kitchen, followed by Dylan’s laughter and then a few more serious words. 

“They’re probably doing face paint again. Last time Ari ‘helped’ me make dinner I had mustard blush on my cheeks.” Mitch rolls his eyes and it’s easy to picture it. 

“Bet you look good in yellow.”

“Trust me that shit burns like motherf— really… don’t ever use it on skin.”

There’s a commotion on the porch outside; loud voices, heavy boots stomping on the deck, muted cursing. 

“That must be Alex and Davo. Look, Auston, I can explain everything, okay? Have dinner with us, give my friends a chance, give _me_ a chance… and then later we’ll talk, okay? No more interruptions, no more surprises.” The idea of watching Mitch with his daughter, meeting more of his people, of having something as normal as dinner with some guys that probably all know who he is and what Mitch and he have? It’s crazy and it's the exact opposite of what he wanted when he came here, and Patty would probably tell him to get out of this place as soon as possible and not make it worse by answering their questions and maybe even taking pictures. 

It’s bad and he feels trapped. 

But Mitch is looking at him with that soft pleading gaze that Auston has seen before. When he wanted to order pizza but Auston voted for something following his diet plan. Or when he told Auston that he couldn’t stay over. When he fell asleep next to him, overly tired and exhausted and spent from their sex, when he wanted to be held. 

Auston has never had an answer for this gaze except nodding. 

Which he does. 

Dinner with Mitch’s friends is so different from all the dinners Auston has had before with his teammates and friends. There is no talk about upcoming games or Keefe’s bad mood in morning practice. They’re not sitting in a fancy restaurant, or in Patty’s huge living room with matching plates and glasses, not on Willy’s or Zach’s comfy couch, eating take out from boxes while balancing Xbox controllers on their knees and shooting the shit before shooting each other in Call of Duty. 

It’s a family dinner. Almost like the ones Auston had so often while he was still living at home: loud and messy, everyone trying to have some attention and vocally demanding it when it wasn’t given, bowls with pasta, tomato sauce, white sauce and salad in the middle of the table, mismatched plates and glasses, the stereo in the background. Water gets spilled on the floor and Connor’s shirt when Dylan reaches for the salt, Mitch has red stripes on his cheek to match Ariella’s ketchup blush and Alex is laughing so hard that she has tears in her eyes after Brinksy, who introduced himself as _Alex, but call me Brinksy since there’s two of us_ , told a story about a client that had tried to do an oil change in his garage and had to call first the fire brigade and then the garage. 

And it’s so different from the dinners Auston so often had with his family. 

Because this family is nothing like his own family or any family that he has known so far. 

The perfect imperfect patchwork family that not even a Hollywood rom-com or a government campaign could have come up with. 

Auston had never felt more awkward and out of place at the beginning—and then more welcome and at ease by the time they finish their dinner and everyone moves around to clear the table. They prepare to get coffee and ice cream from the freezer while Mitch sends Ella upstairs to change into pyjamas before having dessert. It's a whirlwind of chaos, Connor loading the dishwasher, Dylan putting away leftovers into boxes for lunch tomorrow alongside little snacks and packages of candy. Mitch and Brinksy are picking up stuff around the living room; toys and jackets, piling up shoes at the entrance door before they both disappear; Mitch upstairs to check on his daughter, and Brinksy to the garage to grab a couple of beers, leaving Auston behind, leaning against the kitchen counter and taking everything in, until Alex hands him a towel and shoves him over to help Connor with the pots and pans. 

It's obvious that they all know who he is, and it's obvious that they all know that Mitch and he have been seeing each other for weeks. But none of them acts any differently towards him, none of them seems at all impressed. They’re still talking about university classes and the papers they have to write (mostly the one Brinsky has to hand in Sunday and that he hasn't even started yet), about Alex' office job and her stupid coworker who always gives her shit for leaving early because she has to pick up a little girl from daycare that isn't even hers. 

They don't ask about Auston's job (probably because they want to demonstrate that they don't care about the fact that he's the star forward of one of the oldest hockey franchises and makes millions while they share a row house and struggle with their degrees and the monthly hydro bill). But they easily include him in their exchange about the latest HBO show they have been watching, the nasty Toronto weather or the upcoming Christmas holidays. 

Dylan has gotten rid of his pink apron that obviously was a gift from Ariella and is now happily sinking into the worn-out couch next to Brinksy, too close to be anything but couply, even if Auston hasn’t already come to that conclusion from the way they have been looking at each other during dinner, sighing happily while he digs into the bowl of chunky monkey. 

It's easy to relax, to allow himself to participate in their conversation, to be a part of their little community, to become part of their strange family. To look around the house and take in all the colours and details; the collection of chairs around the dining table, the wooden boxes that serve as shelves and sideboards, the worn-out hardwood floor with scratches and paint splatters and the hand-me-down pieces of furniture in the living room. There are plants and lamps in every corner, a thick turquoise carpet in the alcove with dozens of cushions and a home-made coffee table made of bricks and a glass panel. The staircase leading to the second floor is painted white with fairy lights wound around the railing and books piled up on every step along the wall; children's' books, novels, and crime stories, or academic tomes and essays about law or colour combinations and industrial design. 

Everything looks used and loved and lived in. Messy and warm, chaotic and cozy. 

It doesn't take long for Mitch and Ariella to come back down and join them in the living room, both of them bolting down the stairs with huge identical smiles on their faces, both of them changed into pyjamas, or in Mitch's case into sweat pants and a soft grey hoodie. Both of them are clearly eager for the ice cream that Alex has already dished out for them in Ikea bowls.

"Can I have sprinkles, daddy?" 

"That depends…" Mitch makes a show of angling his head and thinking hard about it. "Have you been a good girl today?"

"Yes."

"Did you listen to Alex when she picked you up at daycare? Did you tidy up the playroom?" 

She nods again, so frantically that her hair flies everywhere. "You can ask her." 

"I don't need to because I trust you, sweetie, you wouldn't lie to me, right?" Mitch sets out three little boxes on the counter. "So what colour do you want?" 

"Can I have two?"

"Of course, only one would be boring. Let me guess… pink and yellow?" 

After carefully shaking out a gracious amount of sprinkles onto her bowl of ice cream, Mitch hands her the box with the blue ones to decorate his own bowl before sending her to ask the others if they want some, too. It's obvious that this is a ritual that happens often, just like the way she waits beside the armchair for Mitch to sit down so that she can climb onto his lap. 

They both look so comfortable while they cuddle with each other, so happy while they trade spoonfuls of dessert that it's almost hard for Auston to look at them. But it's even harder to look away from them, from the obvious love that is alighting Mitch's face when he brushes Ariella's hair out of her face or when she snuggles closer to him, obviously tired and exhausted but still set on not letting it show even when all the others are already rolling their eyes. 

She finally falls asleep like that, face buried in Mitch's shoulder, arms around his neck, the corners of her mouth stained pink from the sprinkles.

"So, you all live here together?" He asks carefully, more for confirmation than anything. In the beginning, he has thought it was just Dylan and Brinksy. But the way they all moved around the kitchen and joked with each other about the showerhead in the upstairs bathroom that Connor always ends up tearing down from the wall quickly made it clear that they all lived here. 

"And that works out?" 

"So far." Alex nods; she's sitting next to Connor and even though they‘re not touching at all, and not all attached to each other, Auston thinks there's more there than just friendship. 

"How is it being the only girl, well, apart from Ariella, I mean?" 

"Oh, that's super fine, and Dylan is more of a drama queen than any girl I've ever met." 

"Hey, I heard that and I'm hurt!" Dylan exclaims and kicks her. He's too far away for it to be more than a little nudge though. She blows him a kiss before brushing her hair back behind her ear and leaning a tiny bit closer to Connor, who smiles at her for a second. Almost short enough that one could miss it. 

"You know we love you, honey." 

"Alex did most of the stuff around the house, if it weren't for her, we would still be living in a trash can. She came up with the colour concept and all the ideas like that coffee table." Mitch explains and she blushes a bit, but immediately starts to deny it. 

"If it had been that bad, I wouldn't have even considered moving in." 

"So, Auston, as you can see everyone living in this house pitches in." Dylan explains, voice smooth and sly.

"Really? I mean what are you contributing except bad taste in music and writing lists of things Brinks has to fix?" Connor interrupts him. 

"Excuse me, I do a lot! Thank me tomorrow when you'll find that you have clean boxers to wear because I did your laundry again." 

"It was _your_ turn." 

"Maybe, but that's not the point here." 

"What's the point then?" 

"Point is, everyone’s pulling their weight to make this work. Like… Alex - Brinksy here - he's good at fixing things, cars, dishwashers, sanding off hardwood floors… you name it and he'll do it. This would still be a ruin if it weren't for him. Alex," he points to her. "Alex came up with all the crazy ideas and she's a really great handyman, too. She also works as a freelance graphic designer and is at home a lot and looks after Ella-Bella. Connor, on the other hand, he's not good at anything where he has to use his hands, but he's going to bring in big bucks after he's finished his degree, so we tolerate him for now. But we'll kick him out if he doesn't deliver in a couple of years." 

Dylan's voice is so serious that Auston would probably believe him if he hasn't watched him fretting over everyone during dinner and is already convinced that it would break his heart if Connor would actually move out. 

"You forget the part that neither you nor Brinks would've passed last year’s exams if _he_ hadn't made you study," Mitch adds, carefully adjusting Ariella in his arms so that he can set the bowl down on the table. 

"And Mitchy here, he gave us our little princess," Dylan gets up and tousles Ariella’s hair gently enough to not wake her, before gathering the bowls on the table. If Auston had expected a chirp from the others about his words he would have been disappointed because everyone is looking at the sleeping girl with nothing but soft eyes and fondness. "He's also in charge of groceries and sometimes he gets us great free tickets for movies, too. So, he's not totally useless."

"Thank you. How generous of you to tolerate me around here because El loves me." 

"Please, you know she loves me the most." Dylan disappears around the corner while Mitch turns to Auston, mouthing ' _he’s right_ '. 

"In case you think that Dylan is kind of an ass… then you're right." Mitch grins but his expression is almost as fond as the one he bestowed Ariella before. He ignores Dylan's protest from the kitchen. "But we actually wouldn't be here if it weren't for him. He was the one who brought us all together and he inherited this house from his grandma." 

Not even Connor could argue with that. 

"So, Auston… the point is," Dylan comes back, wiping his hands on his jeans. Instead of sitting in his previous spot, he takes a seat on Brinksy’s lap and throws his arm around his shoulder. "The point is that everyone has to contribute something and we expect that from all our guests. Especially the regular ones." 

"Dyls…" Mitch mutters warningly, but he either speaks too quietly or his friend just decides to ignore him. There’s a flush creeping into his cheeks that Auston likes too much to not play along with Dylan. Embarrassed Mitch is a new thing; a cute thing. 

"In other words, you want to know what I can bring to your house?" 

"Exactly!"

"Dylan, please…? Auston, you don't have to—"

"Well, I can't cook. And I definitely can't repair anything. But I could make up for that with some Leaf tickets, would that make do?" 

"Hm… would Leaf tickets make do? I guess… if they are really really good seats, we could accept that, what do you think, Davo?" 

Auston doesn't even know why he offered since it was obvious that Dylan was just joking, and only two hours ago he didn't even want to get to know these people, was too shocked and hurt to care about them. It's not the idea of bribery and it's not to show off or to be an asshole. Auston really doesn't know, maybe it's the atmosphere, the warm and relaxed mood he's in—maybe it's because he already knows that he won't be able to walk away from these people no matter what Mitch tells him later. 

"Dylan, can you please…?" Mitch starts again, eyes wandering pleadingly from his friend to Connor and then to Auston. "He doesn't mean it that way, you really really don't have to feel obliged." 

Auston shrugs, because he doesn't mind. But also because he's suddenly super aware of the strangeness of the situation. That he's sitting here with people he has never met before, talking and laughing as if it's not one of the last things he expected to be doing when he rang the doorbell earlier this evening. That Mitch is sitting next to him in the armchair holding his sleeping daughter in his arms. That he has dozens of questions that are still unanswered and burning in his throat like fire. 

This is not normal, and this isn't what he came for. 

"I—how about I take Ella upstairs to her bed and then…" Mitch trails off, worrying his lower lip while he looks around his friends. 

"Yeah, sounds like a good idea." Alex jumps to her feet. "I have some stuff I need to read for work and didn't you want to finish that essay, Con?" 

For two seconds Connor looks almost guilty, as if the fact that he’d been chilling on a Friday night is absurd, a travesty that should never happen. 

"And if I were you, Brinks, I would get started on that paper because I refuse to do another last-minute edit on Sunday night."

"One day you have to act on that threat, Davo because otherwise it's just empty words and those never work with Brinks. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about."

"Because you're the king of empty threats… something even Ella already knows. Or why do you think you're her fave?" Mitch gets up too and softly nudges Dylan's legs, mainly to get them out of the way but probably also to get him to move. It's obvious that he’s trying to get rid of them, obvious that he picked up on Auston's restlessness. Because the second his eyes meet Auston's he mouths another apology. 

Not that he needs to. 

As much as Auston enjoyed dinner and hanging out with Mitch's ~~family~~ friends, he didn't come for this. He came for Mitch, for an explanation. And even the lump in his throat, the weight in his stomach, won't be enough to stop him from having this conversation and getting the answers he needs; even if it leads to a decision that he doesn't want to make. 

Because it will be a decision.

Auston has had to make a lot of them in his life so far, each one more important than the one before. He doesn't like them, but he's good with them; they brought him where he is right now. 

The living room is empty by the time Mitch returns. Connor and Alex have gathered their things and some books from the staircase and went to the playroom that apparently also serves as an office from what Alex explained to him. 

"Do you—do you want anything? Coffee? Another beer?" 

Mitch is standing on the lowest step, sleeves pulled over his hands, and flinching awkwardly, insecure even… Auston has never seen him like this. And he's suddenly aware that Mitch also knows this will be a turning point, that he's dreading this conversation. Auston doesn't really dread it, but Mitch does, because Mitch is someone who has something to lose. 

It's enough to make him get up and walk over to him. 

It's enough to take him up on the offer and grant Mitch a few more minutes to gather himself while he sets up the coffee maker (it’s one of the old drip ones, like the one his parents had until he got them a sleek Jura after his season in Zurich). Leaning against the counter he watches Mitch fill the water tank and count spoonfuls of ground coffee into the filter, way more than his mom did. 

His sweatpants are misshapen and old, so thin and threadbare that Auston can see the pattern of Mitch's boxers underneath, and the sweater is huge, so huge that Auston suspects it's not even Mitch's (he knows how much he loves to steal clothes). It's a strange sight, not because Mitch is usually dressed up or wearing anything but comfortable clothes; but because he’s never seen Mitch so dejected, so timid and lifeless. Even when he had been tired before he always found a way to smile, always had a spark in his eyes, that either promised fun or good times. 

It's all gone now and Auston doesn't even feel a flicker of satisfaction about the obvious sadness and fear that Mitch displays—he thought he would; almost wishes that he would after the last couple of days where he didn't know anything. When all he was so confused and hurt, when he felt used and betrayed. When it was so easy to blame everything on Mitch. 

Now it's not easy anymore, and probably won't be for a long time. 

"Look…" Mitch pours him coffee, adds some milk (the exact amount that Auston prefers in his coffee, another blow to his stomach). "I—Gosh, this is so…"

"Hard?"

"Yeah, I mean, but it won't get easier, I guess."

"Probably not, but—" Auston rounds the counter and stands next to him, ignores the part of him that wants to lean against Mitch, wants Mitch to lean against him. Instead, he just nudges him gently. "I need… more? Something. Anything. You left me in the dark so long." 

"I'm sorry." He meets Auston's eyes for the first time since he came downstairs. "I really am." 

They take their mugs and Mitch walks over to the living room where he ignores the couch and sits down on the thick carpet in the alcove. Snatches one of the many cushions against his chest and burrows his face in it. The helplessness of this gesture is almost painful to watch, makes Auston's chest ache—in a way he hasn't known before. Makes him want to crawl over and just coax Mitch to lay down with him, hold him and forget about the last weeks in which Mitch managed to make him doubt himself. 

But it also makes him want to get up and leave, to go back to hockey and hookups, stop caring about Mitch and forget the last weeks in which Mitch managed to carve a place in his life. 

But then Mitch lifts his head and looks at him again, smiles; a sad and resigned smile and the moment is gone and Auston can’t suppress the crazy longing. 

"Do you—do you want me to start from the beginning or maybe you could just ask? What you want to know?" 

"To make it easier for you?" 

There is nothing that Auston wants less (and more). Yet he nods and lifts the mug to take a huge sip of coffee. Tries to think of the most important thing he needs to know. There are a million of them and he can't focus in the face of Mitch looking so vulnerable.

"When would you've told me? Would you have ever even told me?"

"Yes, definitely, 100% yes."

Mitch's voice is sure, so sure that Auston slumps down a bit, feels his shoulders relaxing where he didn't even know he was tense. 

"I kept wanting to tell you for a couple of weeks. But it was so… I couldn't because—" 

"You were afraid that it would be a dealbreaker for me." 

"I thought this was all… fun, I guess? At least that's what I told myself even though I knew I was lying to myself. I—I'm not good at that, at just having fun and keeping things casual. I'm good with friendships, or one-night stands, but everything else…" he shakes his head. "You're the first person I've seen since Ari's birth. And it was so good, so easy with you… I could—I got the chance to not be a single dad with a five-year-old daughter that never has time for anything… I got to be just me. And that - I know it sounds horrible, but it was so great to just be _me_ again. Until I realized that there wasn't just _me_ anymore because I didn't exist like that anymore, instead there's _me and Ari_ now and I wanted you to know that. I just… didn't know that this was maybe more for you, too, until you texted me that night."

Auston knows which night he’s referring to, can imagine exactly how Mitch felt. What he doesn't know is how to react to this revelation. So he doesn't. 

"Tell me about her."

Mitch smiles and huffs. But then his expression becomes so soft, his smile so gentle—Auston has to actually sit on his hand so as to not reach out and touch the corner of that mouth, gather the affection that is lingering there, brush his fingers over his blushing cheeks, feel the love that is written across Mitch's face. 

"You've seen her… she's—she's really something." 

Auston nods; his experience with kids is limited to hanging out with Patty's boys at Christmas parties or barbecues, and occasional visits to the hospital with Carlton, but even he can admit that Ariella is a really great kid. 

"She's the best thing I ever did." 

"Where's her mom?" 

"Not… here anymore, I guess?" A long exhale before he seems to realize his words and hurries to correct himself. "She's not dead or anything… she just—wasn't in a place to raise Ella, still isn't. Penny had serious drug problems while she was pregnant, and even before when we were... when we were still together. We were really lucky that Ari is healthy and everything. But she wanted to give her up for adoption because there was no way she could raise a kid—hell, we were still kids, too, back then. Too young to have a kid. Maybe I still am… if it weren't for Dylan and his family and Mac, I couldn't have done it. Love isn't enough when you're seventeen and trying to raise a kid on your own." 

Auston swallows. He's not sure if he's ready to hear more, but at the same time, he never wants Mitch to stop. 

"Do you still see her?" 

Mitch shakes his head. Then nods. "Sometimes. We mostly text like on Christmas and birthdays, I'll update her and her parents, but nothing more. Penny went to rehab after Ella's birth; I think she's clean now, studying at Stanford. Was always smart… way smarter than me. I couldn't believe my luck when she agreed to go out with me."

Auston can only describe the expression on his face as a mix of pride and tenderness. 

"And yeah, Ella got her looks from Penny, don't say it. You've no idea how often I heard that one."

"She's got your smile though." 

"She does, right? Mac always says I'm projecting something when I tell him that." 

Auston doesn't know Mac except for the three minutes they made small talk at the fundraiser, but he knows that he's wrong, because Ariella's smile is 100% Mitch's, just like everything about her demeanour. The way she cocks her head sideways or presses herself closer to Mitch or one of the others—all affectionate and without any restraint. He also doesn't know anything about Penny, and he doesn't want to know more, but he's sure that it’s Mitch's smile. He can't imagine anyone else having a smile like that. 

(He can't say that, can't even really think it without a slight sickness in the left side of his chest.)

"What about your parents? You haven't mentioned them, so I… I guess they weren't very supportive?" It's probably the worst thing to say; sobering and suffocating the happiness that was written plainly in Mitch's face—snuffing out the warmth like a candle. 

"No—no, they weren't. But that's… I mean, understandable? Which parents would be happy about their seventeen-year-old kid having a baby?"

"Yeah, probably." He rubs a hand over his chin and leans back against the wall of the alcove. It’s safer, given that he wants to slide over and reach for Mitch, bring his fingers under his chin to lift his head up, wants to brush over the corner of his mouth to make him smile again and lighten up his eyes. 

"So you kept her and moved in with these guys?" 

Mitch huffs, but he looks less sad and Auston counts it as a small win. 

"Basically… except it was far more complicated than that. Because Dylan was still living with his parents and he didn't even know Davo and Alex then, my career had just started to take off … it was a mess. It still is, as you've seen. But sometimes I look at her and think that we managed to not completely fuck her up." 

"You didn't, she's great." There's not much else that Auston can say, but it's the truth. "But I wish… I mean, why didn't you just tell me? Why did you invite me here?" 

"It was Alex’s idea, to be honest, said it would be like ripping the bandaid off. And maybe because it would have been harder for you to walk away." 

"Wow… thanks."

"No! I didn't— didn't think you would, not really? But it's a huge step from hooking up occasionally to dating a single father with a five-year-old kid." 

"Occasionally? We've been seeing each other weekly for almost two months." 

"And the way you say that tells me you totally think that's a long time. But it isn't, two months is nothing. So sue me if I was a bit scared about how you'd react?" 

Mitch's gaze is turned on him, full force, eyes wide and pleading for… Auston doesn't know what for, but it's hard to look away, hard to not give in and not forgive him. Hard to even think about not seeing him ever again. 

"I don't… I just—it was a lot. I'm not saying this because I want you to apologize again, because I kind of understand why you did it, but it was a lot. I came here… I don't know what for, for an explanation, for confirmation, I suppose. But finding out that you told all your friends about us, that you have a daughter…" Auston shrugs, takes a sip from his now lukewarm coffee, more to escape Mitch's guilt-ridden expression than anything. To stall while he tries to sort out his thoughts and feelings. 

"If it's about me telling them, you don't—You don't have to worry. They won't ever tell anyone, please believe me. What Dyl said before— forget that; it was a joke and I assure you that you don't—" Mitch moves so fast, is on his knees and right in Auston's space within a beat, that Auston can only blink up at him because Mitch looks so sincere and determined. 

He swallows. 

"Dylan can be an idiot and I know he talks a lot and he's super protective of me, but he doesn't mean anything bad and would never ever think badly of you if you—"

"If I didn't organize Leafs tickets for him? Yeah, I know, and I know that he was just messing with me. But if you think that he wouldn't hate me forever if I ever made you cry then you're an idiot." 

For the first time this evening, Mitch gives him a real and open smile—him, not Ariella or one of his friends. It's for Auston alone and he hasn't realized how much he wanted to see it. He hasn't even realized that he hasn't seen it the last couple of times when Mitch came over. 

"Dylan loves me, but he's the nicest person with the biggest heart you'll ever meet. He can't hold a grudge if his life depended on it."

"I don't want to take that bet." 

"You don't have to… Auston, I didn't—" Mitch stops and raises himself onto his knees, closer now to Auston; close enough to touch. But he doesn't reach out for him, just sits in front of Auston and bites on his lip before he starts again. "I know inviting you here and kind of throwing you into the deep end with everyone here wasn't the smartest thing to do. But you can trust these guys. I trust them with my daughter. I promise, none of them would out you. They know they can't tell anyone."

Auston swallows again; he can feel cold shivers tiptoeing down his back at the words alone. His first and foremost fear when he had grasped the situation earlier that evening had been that everyone knew that he and Mitch have been ~~fucking~~ seeing each other; and it’s even more terrifying when spoken aloud. It had constantly been in the back of his mind all night, lurking beneath the surface of his consciousness. He believes Mitch, believes him when he says his friends are trustworthy, but it's part of his past, part of his present and his personality to not let anyone find out that he sometimes likes sleeping with men more than with women. 

"It's—" 

(Not okay. Not really. Not _yet_.)

But he's glad that Mitch interrupts him before he can half-lie. 

"Even if this… this _thing_ doesn't work out, they won't ever say anything." 

"This _thing_?"

"That we’re doing here… if you want to. I mean, it's okay if you don't—or not okay, because it will hurt." A dry laugh, not really sarcastic, but definitely not real and not happy. "But it's your decision, I can't convince you and I'll respect it if that's not something you want. Just because I want to do this for real, doesn't mean that you have to want that, too, of course." 

Auston's heart is suddenly loud and beating heavily in his ears—so loud that he's not sure if he heard right. If he hasn’t heard only what he wanted to hear. What he has wanted to hear and say since Mitch left his apartment two weeks ago. Since Mitch left that post-it on his forehead four weeks ago. Since Mitch stayed overnight for the first time six weeks ago and Auston had woken up with his body pressed against him, with his head on his chest and his hair tickling his throat. 

(If he hadn’t heard what he didn't even know that he wanted to hear.) 

"I—I'm not looking for another dad or anything, even if today appeared like that. Ari has enough parental figures in her life already. I was just tired of hiding her from you and not talking about her, so you don't, you don't—"

Without thinking, Auston presses his hand over Mitch's mouth, stopping his rambling. It's one swift motion, done before he even realizes what he's doing. But it's so easy and so good to shut him up, to pull Mitch in with his other hand and then replace the hand with his mouth and kiss him. Feel him stiffen against his body at first, before he melts and opens up; body soft and warm as he climbs onto Auston's lab and returns the kiss with the enthusiasm and delight Auston is used to. 

They kiss like this for what seems like minutes and hours. Mitch's lips plush and warm, tasting of coffee and chunky monkey and sprinkles. It’s so utterly Mitch that Auston can't stop himself from licking deeper and yanking him closer. Dragging him down with him until he's lying on the fluffy carpet with Mitch draped over him, comfortably and grounding.

"I guess that means you're agreeing to my dating plans?" 

"I guess…" Auston smiles. Dating sounds serious. Dating a single father with a load of baggage and a bunch of nosy and super involved friends sounds almost scary. But dating _Mitch_ sounds easy and promising. At least right now. Here on the floor of this colourful living room with dozens of cushions and the wheezing heating vent. So he focuses on this feeling, and the feeling of Mitch pressed against his body, the curve of his back under his hands and shape of his smile sliding over his jaw. It's so easy to lose himself in the familiar weight on top of him, the slow movements when Mitch starts to rub himself against his dick, the little noises Mitch makes between kisses, the comforting scent of skin and the old spice deodorant that Mitch always uses. 

They are both half-hard already, and heat is curling in Auston’s lower body as he grabs Mitch's ass to increase the friction against his dick; he wishes they could be naked, that he could see and touch every inch of Mitch's skin. 

"I missed this. Missed you."

The words, the admission makes him happy, makes him feel hot and warm and so many things at once. Makes him bold enough to say them back before he slips his fingers under the waistband of Mitch's pants, and then under the soft cotton of his boxers. 

"You feel so fucking good. I, shit, I can't wait to fuck you again and—” 

Mitch cuts him off, dives back in and licks into his mouth; with eyes open and both hands in Auston's hair—kissing him the way he does everything; eager and deep, holding nothing back while they rub against each other, movements becoming frantic and uncoordinated as Auston caresses over his hole. With a sharp inhale Mitch breaks their kiss to bury his face in Auston's neck, mouth sliding over Auston's cheek on their way, moist and hot. 

But suddenly Mitch stops, stills his movements, and groans out loud. It sounds frustrated and he looks frustrated when he pushes himself up so that their bodies don't touch anymore. His hair is tousled, his cheeks are flushed, and his lips are puffy from kissing. 

"We can't—we're like," he shrugs and gestures around the room. "Sorry." 

Then he rolls over and lies next to Auston, staring at the ceiling. 

"It's okay." 

It is. Even though he wishes they could. He's not painfully hard but it's been almost two weeks and having Mitch pressed against him and kissing him made it impossible not to react. The way he felt in his arms, how he fitted against his body or how his ass was just small enough for Auston’s hands to grab it. The deep and thorough kisses—as if he couldn't get enough of Auston. The words he said and how he looked sitting opposite to him, cuddling the cushion. Everything about Mitch is just… hard for Auston to resist. 

"Can I stay the night? Not because—we don't have to…" He whispers, not even sure why. Not even sure why he's so insecure about it. "I just want to…"

_Hold you_. 

"I'm sorry, I really—but Ariella, I don't think it'd be smart. She should get used to you first, as a friend of mine, not as… you know? Finding you in my bed if she comes in at night might be a little too fast?"

"Yeah, of course." Auston exhales. It's not like he can say anything else. And the logical part of his brain knows that Mitch is right, but that doesn't change the fact that he's disappointed. That the thought of not falling asleep and waking up next to Mitch suddenly feels impossible, like the last thing he wants to do. 

He sits up and doesn't dare to glance over to where Mitch is still lying on the carpet. If he looked at him now he wouldn't be able to leave at all, would probably suggest something stupid like asking Mitch if he could sleep on the couch just so he could see him in the morning, stumbling around sleep drunk and yet still smiling. 

"Hey, Aus… please, it's not—it won't always be like this. I just want to be careful, okay? I really wish you could stay." 

Auston can hear him sitting up and then he's leaning against him, raining little kisses over his shoulder and upper arm; sweet innocent kisses. Tiny apologies when he shouldn't even feel sorry for doing what is right for his daughter. It feels too good to keep the distance and so he turns and smiles. Steals some real kisses. And then some more because he knows he has to make them last until after Christmas. 

They say goodbye on the porch. 

Mitch is only wearing socks and a sweater, but he curls up against Auston's chest so that Auston can wrap his parka around him while Mitch talks about Christmas and New Year, about their plans for the holidays and about the next time he and Auston will see each other and how much he looks forward to it. Talks about what he's going to do to Auston then. 

He keeps his arms around Auston's back, barely moves, except for his nose and lips and the fluttering eyelashes against Auston's neck, but it's enough to awake that sweet longing again, the urge to fully pull Mitch in and continue what they started before. To lean in and kiss him until Mitch regrets every single teasing remark. 

When Auston's Uber arrives, Mitch detangles himself without a word, steps away fast enough and far enough that Auston doesn’t have to ask him to. Before he can even ask him for a last short kiss. 

His phone vibrates in his pocket the moment he closes the car door behind him. One time, two times… and then after a short pause, a third time. 

M: _I hope you know what I'm doing now_. - 

The second message is a picture and it causes all his blood to run south (not that his semi had really gone away since they broke apart in the living room). 

M: _I'm really really happy ur giving us a chance_. -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And??? What do you think? Did anyone expect this? ^^
> 
> I’m on [ **tumblr** ](https://miss-malheur.tumblr.com/) and always up to talk about those two idiots. I also have a [ **tag** ](https://miss-malheur.tumblr.com/tagged/story%3A-to-make-me-dream-of-you) there for this story with inspiration pics and stuff.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks to everyone who commented and gave me kudos! You made me so happy. Especially that most of you liked the little reveal. I hope you love Ari as much as I do and that you continue enjoying this story.   
> I promise it's not only about the kid. Mostly. ^.^  
> Have fun.

"He's got what? A daughter?" 

"You should scream louder, Willy, I don't think the whole airport has heard you yet."

"Sorry…" He doesn't look the slightest bit apologetic, not that Auston expected him to; William Nylander and regret go together like William Nylander and secrecy. So not _at all_. Thankfully he doesn't scream again and looks down to fiddle with his phone. 

"But that is—wow, how could he keep this from you?" 

"He thought it would have been a deal-breaker for me." Auston shrugs, still low-key checking their surroundings for anyone who might have overheard them. But most of the guys are either too sleepy or too busy inhaling their coffee (or green tea, in JT’s case) to give them more than a short glance. "And it probably would have been.”

"If he told you at the beginning?" 

“I mean, it was just a hookup...” 

“But it stopped being that really quickly. He should’ve told you then.”

“Why are you mad?”

“The question is, why aren’t _you_?” 

Willy raises his left eyebrow at him (Auston is still in awe about how he manages that) before he's back to focusing on his phone. 

“I understand why he did it to begin with and you know how it is, the longer you hide something the harder it is to talk about it. So…”

He shrugs again. Then laughs awkwardly. 

“It’s hard staying mad at him.”

“Aww, young love.” Something softens in Willy’s expression, the frown disappears and he grins. Auston isn’t sure if it’s fondness or reason. Maybe both. 

“It’s not love; we just agreed to start dating.”

“Buddy, you started dating three months ago.”

“Not for real.” 

“But he knows you’re not out?”

“He knows. Honestly, why all the questions? Get your own life.” Auston’s not really annoyed, it’s just Willy. It’s hard to be pissed at him, but it is way too early and he would rather drink his coffee and read the texts he got from Mitch. 

“I’m just asking because all his friends know. And also because of this,” Willy shoves his phone in Auston’s face. So close that his eyes probably cross as he’s trying to read it. 

It’s Wikipedia. Mitch’s Wikipedia. 

There’s not much. Mitch is a skateboarder, not a hockey player. A bit about his sporting career, his engagement with Boarding House, the stunts he's done for movies… but then down at the bottom a few personal facts: has an older brother, used to play hockey before quitting that in favour of skateboarding, supports the LGBTQ+ community openly and participates in Toronto Pride every year, came out as bisexual in 2017. 

Auston swallows. Suddenly he’s sick and the coffee tastes even more bitter on his tongue. 

_It’s right there_. 

Auston shouldn’t be surprised. Everything Mitch does is real and open. Out for everyone to see. It was one of the first things that drew Auston in. 

“It’s right there.”

“Thanks, I can read.” 

“You never looked him up?” 

He shakes his head, because… because why didn’t he? It makes no sense, except—

“Do you look up your one-night stands?”

“No, but usually I—we don’t have to, because they’ll send us their instas and twitters anyway.” Willy rolls his eyes again. Even with his nerd glasses and beanie, he looks so fashionable and good that Auston wonders for a second… but the thought is gone before he can follow it. Although it would be so much easier. Except… it’s Willy. And Auston’s always valued friendship and family over everyone and everything. 

“That doesn’t sound like he’s okay with hiding if you ask me.” Willy continues. 

“Yeah, but I’m not.” Auston snaps. He takes a sip of coffee even though he knows that it will burn his lips and taste bitter on his tongue.

“Did you even talk about this?”

Another sip, even worse than before. His mouth feels dry, his throat aches. His stomach cramps. 

When his phone vibrates again with an incoming message he caves and finally looks down. It’s a picture of a Christmas tree; the most pitiful thing he ever saw, with twisted twigs and a crooked crown. Mitch and Ariella are next to it, wearing ugly reindeer sweaters and identical smiles, so wide and proud as if they had cut down the biggest and most beautiful tree in the whole forest and carried it home. 

(It makes him smile. Lessens the soreness inside him.) 

A: _You found that in a dumpster?_ -

M: _Course not. Christmas Tree Lot in the Beaches_ -

A: _Was that the last one they had?_ \- 

M: _Ferdinand looked so miserable and lonely among all those silly perfect ones… had to get him out of there_. -

A: _You named the Christmas tree._ -

Auston is not surprised. Not at all. 

Wordlessly he turns to Willy and shows him the picture. 

"Adorable. Both of them.”

He doesn’t know what his face is doing, but it must be bad given that Willy’s expression melts into the same soft one from before and he snatches the phone out of Auston’s hands and reads the most recent messages. 

"I know, right?” Auston smiles. He feels silly that he’s actually contemplating making the picture his home screen. 

"I can see why you can’t stay mad at that smile.” Willy scrolls further up; Auston watches him skimming over the texts and he lunges for his phone. But Willy is just sliding to the next seat, moving away from him. 

"Give me my phone. And stop reading my texts, Jesus.” There are definitely some parts of their conversation that he’s very keen on keeping private. 

Then to his horror, Willy starts typing, fingers flying over the keyboard, chuckling softly. 

"What are y—I’m not kidding. Give me the phone.” 

But Willy continues typing for three or five seconds, his grin getting wider and wider and Auston more and more worried. When Willy finally looks up and tosses him the device it happens so fast that Auston almost drops it. Naz who must have been watching them laughs obnoxiously. 

Auston gives him the finger before he reads what Willy wrote; because of course he hit send already. 

A: **__**_You look so adorable, mind if i use that as my home screen?_ -

Auston groans but Willy looks as unimpressed as ever and shrugs.

“Like you didn’t think about that.”

“Not. The. Point.” 

"Aww, I knew you did." 

A: _Think we can talk when we’re back? Just the 2 of us? Nothing bad. Just bout us_. - 

“Look at where talking to him got you, Matts.” At least now, he sounds a bit apologetic. “It’ll be better than getting your heart broken.” 

Mitch hasn’t replied yet, and there are no dots indicating that he’s typing so Auston sends him a short apology and throws the phone to the seat next to him. Sighs.

__

Mitch's answer doesn't come before the evening, just as they get to the hotel. 

M: _Holy fuck, I was texting William Nylander??? Now I can die happy_. -

Without thinking he writes back.

A: _Are you that excited when you get texts from me?_ -

M: _Ofc not, I get texts from you all the time_ -

A: _Oh, I mean that's something I can change_ -

With a grin, he throws the phone onto the bed and starts to take off his tie and jacket. He doesn't have to check while he's changing into sweatpants and getting ready for bed to know there are incoming texts because Mitch can't deal with being ignored. Not at all. It's still very satisfying to see the screen light up whenever he looks over as he's brushing his teeth and listening to the scores from today’s games. He takes a long time putting away his game-day suit, packing his shirt and arranging his shoes so they fit with the squares on the ugly carpet before he finally allows himself to pick up the phone. 

Maybe if he waits a minute longer Mitch would get so impatient and desperate that he calls Auston.

But then the screen lights up with a picture and he just. _Can't resist_. So he mutes the TV and crawls underneath the blanket before he opens it—somehow expecting it to be either another one with Ariella (both of them baking cookies for Santa just like Mitch told him earlier) or one with Dylan and him gift wrapping presents and drinking eggnog. 

But it's one of just Mitch. One of Mitch sitting in front of the decorated Christmas tree in the ugliest sweater Auston has ever seen and pouting so miserably that he's unsure if he wants to laugh or hit the call button as fast as he can, because the left side of his chest clenches so suddenly and so hard that he's too shocked to actually to anything.. 

Jesus. _Fuck_. 

Dylan, or someone else, must have taken the photo because Mitch is holding a gift-wrapped present in both hands; although the only thing that he can look at is Mitch's face, the huge begging eyes, and the plush lower lip. It's all so overacted and fake, and still so cute and adorable (Willy's words, not Auston's, but nevertheless true). 

M: _That's for you… talk to me again, please?_ \- 

In an ideal world where Auston was not falling more and more for this idiot, he would probably wait another two or three minutes before answering. But Auston is not living in that world anymore and his only consolidation is that no one will ever know how fast he hits the reply button.

A: _is it really or just to get me texting again?_ -

When he answers the incoming call, he can hear Dylan and Alex laughing loudly in the background before he even has a chance to focus on Mitch's voice. 

He slides down the bed and drags the blanket over his head, almost burying himself underneath it, making the world and the stupid loss disappear—so it’s just Mitch's voice through the speaker until they both fall asleep. 

__

The house looks just the same as the first time Auston saw it. And the second and third times. 

It’s brightly illuminated, with sparkling fairy lights around the porch railing, warm orange light in the kitchen window, and more fairy lights visible in the cozy alcove. On the second floor, Mitch's bedroom is dark, but on the ceiling of Ariella's room, he can see the yellow-white dots of the nightlight he gave her as a belated Christmas present. 

It makes him smile, makes him quicken his steps even though the sidewalk is slippery as hell and he really doesn't want to call Keefe tomorrow and tell him that he's unavailable for the next couple of games because he couldn't wait to see his boyfriend again. Not to mention the fact that Willy would never ever let him forget about it. 

The pathway to the wooden porch is free of ice - thank god, or rather, thank Connor, probably - and there is a small misshapen snowman right next to the stairs, probably not taller than Ariella. It has buttons and eyes not made of coal but instead of blue skittles, with a potato nose and a backward Blue Jays cap. It's as ridiculous as it is adorable, and he tightens his hand around the strap of his bag. Before he can even set a foot on the first step, the front door opens and Mitch's smile is the only thing he can see. 

It's hard to wait until he's sure neither the Uber driver nor any other passerby can see them, hard to wait until he's fully inside the house and the door is closed behind him. Almost impossible because Mitch looks so purely and utterly excited to see him; wearing Auston's Christmas present and a pair of too-long sweatpants. As usual, his feet are bare and, as usual, he's smiling wide and happily, just like the day he first met Auston, and all the times he’s opened this door for him since.

But unlike those other times he doesn't keep his distance today. 

Unlike those other times he pulls Auston in and yanks him down to kiss him before Auston even has a chance to take off his shoes or his coat, to set down his luggage or even steady himself against the eagerness. 

Although he's lying, because he was prepared, has been prepared for this affection since he boarded the plane in Tampa, was eager for it since they landed at Pearson an hour ago. 

Yet it's still new. Overwhelming like everything about Mitch is overwhelming, and Auston wouldn't change it for the world. 

They kiss right there in the entranceway behind the closed front door; deep and enthusiastic, only stopping to gather their breath and then diving right back in because oxygen is so overrated. The duffle bag slides from Auston's shoulder and lands with a muffled sound on the floorboards next to him when he puts both of his hands on Mitch's ass to haul him closer, _closer_. So close that Mitch steps onto his shoes, goes to his tippy toes to be as tall as Auston and to get a better angle for kissing. It's worth it. It intensifies their contact, allows Auston to lick deeper into Mitch's mouth and feel him pressed against his body, chest to toe—heartbeat against heartbeat, hipbone against hipbone. Hard-on against hard-on. 

It's thrilling and calming and everything he has wanted for weeks. 

Because seeing and talking and spending time with Mitch isn't the same when others are around (as much as Auston has grown to like them) and when Mitch is aware and afraid of his daughter walking in on them (as much as Auston has grown to fall in love with her). 

"C'mon… Aus. Damn, why are you still wearing that coat.”

“Because it’s 20 degrees outside, and you attacked me the second I got in.” 

Mitch exhales with exaggerated annoyance. 

“First of all, we’re on borrowed time here, and second, speak Celsius to me. You’re in Canada now, accept it.” 

But then he cuts off any response Auston might have wanted to add, and they land on the couch panting heavily and clothes twisted around them. 

It’s a mess to get their limbs sorted and Auston out of the coat. It would have been easier if Mitch had allowed him to sit up and take it off instead of pushing and yanking him around until he has access to Auston’s jeans. 

It’s a mess because Auston’s left arm is still caught in the thick fabric and he can only use his right one to pull Mitch down and brush through his hair, to touch him as he craves. It would have been faster if he could get his other hand free to slide them both down Mitch’s back and into his pants, teasing him. Instead, he lets himself fall back and stops fighting, allows Mitch to manhandle him and take what he wants. 

It’s a mess because they’re both wearing too many clothes and there is too little skin, their movements are too clumsy and even Mitch is lacking his usual careless grace in his urgency to do everything at once. It would have been better if they weren’t in a hurry, if they had all the time in the world. 

But they don’t. And right now it’s better than anything they’ve had since the weekend before Christmas and Auston sometimes felt like he’s dying with the need to touch Mitch like this, to feel his lips against his throat and listen to his breathy and hoarse whispers of affection that he throws around like it’s nothing—like they don’t make Auston fall more and more for him. 

It’s better because Mitch’s haste and despair so clearly mirror his own and it’s alleviating and arousing to know he’s not alone in this. That he’s wanted like this.

It’s better because even though he’s practically immobile he’s still able to drive Mitch crazy above him—just with his words, just with being himself. Because they know each other, know that no one else could suffice at this moment and maybe for a long time. 

(It’s not about sex or getting off. It’s about each other. _Them_.) 

__

Because Mitch's sweatpants are too short for Auston he gets him a pair of Dylan's to wear while they hang out later. They’re cuddled on the couch like they did so often before or after sex in Auston's condo; Mitch's legs draped across Auston's lap, facing him, hand playing with the strands of hair at Auston's neck. 

"I like this much better, don't cut it again." 

No one is paying attention to the TV showing the Oilers game. It's not even background noise because they muted it—it's just for pretense, or out of habit; the way they used to do it before. 

"It gets curly."

"That's exactly why I like it… and it's so soft." Mitch fingers wander further, tracing the hairline from his ear, up to his forehead and then tousles through it. Auston frowns and Mitch smiles again. "I'm not teasing you. Or, not much at least." 

Auston is willing to let it go, for now. 

"That snowman in the yard…? Is that supposed to be you?" 

"Blue eyes, the cap. _Of course_. Ella was very accurate, wasn't she?" 

"Very, especially about the size. Or lack thereof." 

"Hey!" Mitch punches his shoulder, hard enough to hurt a bit, but mellowed by the amused and cute laugh that follows, by Mitch's body shuffling closer. 

" _Hey_!" Auston mocks; before he puts his hand on the bare skin of Mitch's ankle, circles the bony knob. "Can I ask you something?"

"Oh god, that can only be bad… but yeah, hit me." 

"It's not, I promise." The seam of Mitch's pants is ripped, tiny threads lose, probably because he stepped on them. "It's… you're out? I mean, you're out and you're still okay with—" 

"That you’re not? Yes, Aus, of course, I am. It's—it's a choice and a hard one. I was in a different position, still am. I mean, no one pays attention to skateboarding. Besides the fact that it's also a different scene. But you… even if you weren't _you_ ; it's the NHL." 

He says it as if that explains everything. And maybe it does.

"So, you don't think I'm—weak? A coward?"

For a few seconds, Auston can only feel Mitch's gaze on him, thinks he's never ever felt so insecure and stupid. Mitch's answer could break him; he knows it. Has only realized it now, after he already asked a question he didn't even want to ask. But suddenly it's the only thing on his mind. The only fear that ever mattered. 

Fingertips brush over his chin, underneath it; tip his head up so that he has to meet Mitch's eyes. 

"Aus… I would never think something like that of you. Or of anyone. Who do you think I am?" 

Oh god, he sounds hurt—actually hurt. Auston is an idiot. 

"Like I said, coming out is a tough decision. Admirable and painful. And sometimes - in your case, at the moment – it’s not worth it. The league isn’t ready. You have more to lose than to gain. And even… I mean if… It's your choice, Aus, I will always respect it." 

"Thank you," he mutters, still absently picking on one of the threads; it's calming. But then Mitch's thumb caresses his lower lip and all his attention turns to that touch. To Mitch's face and the look of sadness that is still there, that Auston put there with his doubts and fears. 

"Don't thank me for something that's normal. And before you can add something equally nuts; yes, I'm okay with being with you—even if it means that we can't do stuff in public or go on actual dates, like dinner or the movies. In case you haven't noticed, that's not something I want or need. That's not who I am." A disbelieving huff, but it's followed by a little chuckle. Amused. "And even if I were, and even if you were out and we could have a romantic dinner or whatever you think you should do with your date… this is Toronto and you're _you_. A date with fans interrupting, and waiters and guests staring at us, or The Sun writing about it the next day isn't exactly what I'd call romantic." 

With a little tug, he pulls until the tension leaves Auston's body and he falls against Mitch; lips meeting, eyes locking, hands brushing. It's not a kiss; it's just a touch. 

But it's everything he needs right now. 

They part just enough for Mitch to continue. Just whispers, so close still that they tickle against Auston's lips. 

"I— don't care about dates or if you're out, Aus. I only care about you. About being with you the way that’s good for both of us. You don't want to be out, and I want to take it slow around Ari. Everything else…? I mean everything else we can figure out along the way, don't you think?"

"That, that sounds good." 

Mitch's tentative smile tastes even better than the kiss. 

"Do you… want to sleep here?" 

"Tonight?" 

"No, on Christmas Eve." He rolls his eyes, "of course, tonight." 

Auston tried not to hope for it because Mitch has always made him go home. So he was prepared to get an Uber home later tonight. But that doesn't mean that he wouldn't rather stay. 

"Yeah, I want that. Very much."

"Is it okay if you sleep here? On the couch?"

"You're scared that Ariella could find me in your bed." 

Now it's Mitch who can't meet his eyes, who bites his lips and seems tense—braced for rejection. 

"I'm just… sometimes at night when she wakes up, she comes over to my room and—I want to tell her first that I, that I like you very much and that you'll stay overnight and in my bed. I don't want to confuse her or stress her. It's, I mean, it's the first time that I've seen someone since she was born and I have no idea how to do that, how fast we should move. She likes you and knows you're my friend and obviously she knows that boys can love boys," he laughs, embarrassed and apologetic. "So that's not what I'm worried about… I'm just not sure because she's not used to sharing me like that."

Now it's Auston who has to lift his face and make him look at him. Brush his thumb over his chin and the corner of Mitch's mouth to elicit a little forced smile. 

"It's okay. I told you before, I get it." 

His skin is soft, warm to touch, so inviting to lean in and kiss again; or just continue these caresses until he falls asleep. 

"And I would love to stay here tonight but I have a game tomorrow. I can't afford to be cranky or fuck up my back. Another time?" 

Now they both bite their lips, a little frustrated and a bit sad. So Auston gives in and takes the kiss that he wanted before. And then some more—to make sure that Mitch understands that he's not declining to punish him, that he respects his wish to be careful around his daughter. To make sure he has enough to remember them when he leaves later and enough for luck tomorrow. 

__

Auston sleeps over the first time before he has to leave for the All-Star Game. He knows that some of the other players are not keen on attending but he has never been one of them. Sure, a week in the sun would be great too, but he had never minded. At least not before this year. And it’s not because he wakes up with a sore neck and back from the worn-out couch that is both too narrow and too short for him, not even because he wakes far earlier than he normally would because he has to get back to his condo to get his stuff. 

He wakes up to the sound of the coffee maker and the kitchen drawers screeching open and shut; to the smell of toast and bacon, to the sight of Mitch with Ariella on his lap, offering him a mug filled with coffee, and their identical blinding smiles. 

"Good morning Auston," Ariella almost shoves the mug into his face, so abruptly that the caramel coloured drink sloshes dangerously and almost spills. Auston shrinks back against the cushion. 

"Sweetie, I'm sure Auston would appreciate your gesture much more if you don't burn his face." 

Thankfully, Mitch takes the mug from her hand and winds the other around her chest to pull her back; kisses the top of her head with his eyes locked on Auston's. It's so adorable that he can feel himself smile while he tries to sit up. 

"We made you breakfast. I helped Daddy a lot!" 

"You did? That's awesome. I love breakfast." 

"Me too." Ariella brightens even further; and he notices a little brown spot on her upper lip.

"Let me guess, your favourite is toast with Nutella?" Carefully he reaches for the mug; his neck is stiff from the weird angle, and when he turns his head it's just on the wrong side of okay. He frowns but tries to hide it quickly as he realizes that Ariella's smile is waning. 

"How could you tell?" She almost pouts. 

"Because it's your daddy's, too." 

And indeed, now that he looks at Mitch again, he also notices a suspicious-looking smudge of chocolate. It's much smaller, because he probably licked it clean, or at least tried to. Auston is suddenly very invested in stirring his coffee because the longer he looks at Mitch the more he wants to pull him in and lick it clean. 

Thankfully Mitch instructs Ariella to get one of her books so Auston can read it to her while he finishes breakfast, and two minutes later she snuggles close to him and spreads a thick book between them. 

"It's my favourite book."

"But it says 'good night stories'." 

"Alex said it's never the wrong time to read about strong women." 

Mitch's laugh is loud and bright and Auston doesn't have to look at him to know that he looks proud as hell right now. Even he can't help smiling at the twinge of affection he feels as he watches her flipping through the pages eagerly until she’s found what she was looking for. 

"I love this one." She nudges him, clearly waiting for him to start reading. 

"Coco Chanel?" 

"Isn't she pretty?" 

"Very pretty," he hums while he sips his coffee and listens to her explanations about Coco Chanel's dresses and Evita Peron's pearls and Elizabeth I, whose face was very white and who was more smart and sad than all the men of her time. Her enthusiasm is adorable and reminds him of Mitch—even more than the wide smile and the blinding happiness in her dark eyes. 

"Oh yeah? Why?"

"Because she loved her country so much that she gave it everything, every little piece of her heart."

"But shouldn’t loving something so passionately and burning for something so much that you devote all your time on it be great? Why do you think she was sad?"

"I—my daddy said that loving something that can't love you back will always make you sad. And that you can't always make everyone happy because then you'll end up the unhappiest person in the world."

Auston nods, more absently than anything; turning his head and searching for Mitch in the kitchen, who's meeting his eyes and smiling softly before shaking his head. _'Don't_ _ask_.' Something in Auston's chest constricts; because Mitch looks sad— _heartbroken_. For just a small moment and then it's gone, covered up with sweetness, sugarcoated as if Auston wasn't an adult but a child - _his child_ \- for whom he has to put on a face of braveness and happiness. He frowns, and shakes his head. Because he doesn’t want to let it drop. 

(Months ago he gladly would have. Couldn't be bothered to ask a girl for more than her name.)

"Your daddy is very smart." He swallows, coughs, throat dry as paper. "But if someone needs you to make them happy that's even sadder. Don't you think?" 

"I'm—I'm not sure." She looks insecure, lifts his face first to him and then to Mitch who is still watching and listening so intently that Auston can feel the heat rising in his cheeks, feels caught and scared that he fucked up somehow. 

"I think what Auston is trying to say is… if you're always a sad person you'll never be happy even if you have someone else doing everything they can to make you smile. Because you need a little spark in your heart.”

Ariella puts her finger on her mouth, closes her eyes and scrunches her nose; obviously trying to find that spark inside her and Auston wants to say something but he’s not sure what; not sure if he's allowed to or if he’s already gone too far. 

Then suddenly Mitch is next to them and guides his hand on Ariella’s little chest, and Auston can't stop smiling when she sighs and giggles at the touch. His hand looks huge compared to her ribcage, tan against the pale yellow of her pyjamas, even though her complexion is almost as dark as his own midwinter skin tone. 

"Can you feel her little spark, Aus?" Mitch leans his face against his shoulder and whispers the words into his ear—loud enough for Ariella to hear. His breath caresses his cheeks and smells of coffee and chocolate, his body pressed warm and firm against his arm. 

(Auston feels so many sparks, he's afraid he's going to explode. He wants time to stop right now, and never move again; he wants to live in the way Mitch looks at him right now.)

"Yes." 

"See, little mouse, even Auston can feel it. That is because your spark is so bright, soooo very bright." 

Ariella doesn't open her eyes, but she puts both her hands on top of his, warm and a bit clammy, sticky from Nutella. A smile spreads on her face again; first tinted with insecurity, then with increasing happiness, mixed with pride. When she finally can't stand it anymore and opens her eyes, Auston almost flinches back, caught by both her gaze and Mitch's that he can still feel on his face. He’s about to try and withdraw his hand, and would have if it weren't for her touch and Mitch's head on his shoulder. 

(His heart is beating so loud that they both must hear it.)

"But, daddy, I… I'm still more happy when you're with me." 

“That’s okay, sweetie. I’m happier with you too.” 

__

Auston can’t stop thinking about that moment. Not when he’s on the plane later. Not when he’s walking the hallway to his hotel room in St. Louis. 

Can’t stop thinking about it when he’s meeting his parents later that afternoon or when he’s getting ready for the red carpet.

He still feels warm and mellow, safe. And when he closes his eyes he’s still there. In the cozy but messy living room with its dark blue walls and the mismatched furniture. In the old kitchen with the picture frames and Ariella’s drawings on the fridge. Eating Nutella toast and eggs and bacon and stuff that is not on his nutrition plan.

He's still _there_. With Mitch and Ariella. 

Still tasting the chocolate that he finally kissed from the corner of Mitch’s mouth when he said goodbye. 

__

“Who is she?” 

His mom sneaked up on him. Or he just didn’t notice. ~~Too occupied by the texts he just got~~. 

“I have no idea what you mean.” 

“The girl that’s making you smile like that.”

Auston pockets the phone, although not because he thought she wouldn’t respect his privacy, but she’s his date tonight and he’s been an awfully distracted companion so far. She deserves better. 

She also deserves honesty. 

“It’s… it’s not a girl.” He admits carefully. Tries it out. With a rapidly beating heart and a nervous twist in his stomach. Not because he’s afraid of her reaction, of her rejection. It's just so _new_ , feels so strange to talk about it. Feels so good to talk about it. 

So maybe it’s not nervousness but something else. Something that has no name—like this whole thing with Mitch doesn’t have a name yet. 

She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even raise her eyebrow. Doesn’t look surprised at all. Just waits patiently for more with that serious and approving smile that always got him to spill everything when he was a little kid. 

“It’s… I’m seeing someone. We’re not—I’m not sure what we are. But I like him a lot." It's easier when he doesn't meet her eyes, when he just soaks up her warmth from where she wound her arm around his; her small body and the gentle pressure against his side providing all the courage he needs to continue. "He's… smart and funny, always smiling, enthusiastic and optimistic. He's got such a big heart and so much kindness and love, it's—it must probably sound strange, but I think he's special."

She nods; he can feel it against his upper arm. 

"He sounds precious."

"Yeah… he is. Very much." He exhales slowly before taking a sip of his drink. 

"Does he play hockey, too?"

"No. He's not… He's a skateboarder. Professional, so he's used to traveling a lot, too." 

"Will I get to know him?" 

Of course she would ask that. 

Auston softly disentangles himself from her and faces her for the first time since they started this conversation; looks down at her, into her warm eyes before shaking his head. 

"Not yet, mama, we're… taking it slow. He has a little girl." 

For the first time, he can see surprise; a little twitch of her nose, a falter of her smile. Hesitation and concern darken her expression for a second until she has herself fully under control again. But it's enough to feel it like a stab in the heart, enough to make him hurry an explanation to destroy her doubts about Mitch, about his decision, carefully watching her face while he stutters and tells her about yesterday morning. Finally, he caves and gets out his phone again. 

(He didn't pick the Christmas picture for his home screen, but he saved it.)

Thankfully, the last couple of pictures that Mitch has sent him are all safe to show, mostly of him and Ariella. He doesn’t have to look at her to notice the exact moment all her doubts melt away and she falls for them. The tension leaves her body and she grabs his arm again. 

“They’re adorable.”

“They are.” (He doesn’t think about what his confession means. Doesn’t want to.)

“But he looks so young! He’s still a kid, too!”

“I think it wasn’t easy for him.”

"Si… you can see it in his eyes." She taps against the screen, probably to show him, and accidentally swipes to the next picture. It's the last one that Mitch had sent him, a selfie of him with Ariella on his lap. Her head is resting against his shoulder, both their hair still wet from the nighttime shower, both already in pyjamas, both smiling for _him._

'Watching you rock the skills competition.' The caption says and his heart jumps again. 

"They’re both adorable." She says again, it's more a sigh this time and he knows Mitch and Ariella have won her over. 

But thankfully she allows him to put the phone away again before she faces him. Her hand brushes over his cheek and chin, this little soft gesture she has always used when he did something that made her proud. 

"I was worried about you… You've always been so—protective with your heart. I thought you're closing yourself off, trying to be so strong, focusing only on your hockey." She places both her hands against his chest, over the spot where his heart is; a warm and assuring touch. "You have so much kindness and love to give. I'm happy that you allow yourself to have this."

Then she raises on her tippy toes (even with her heels she's still tiny) and kisses his cheek. 

__

His mama's kiss felt like a blessing. 

A blessing he didn't know he wanted. Didn't know he _needed._

But suddenly he feels lighter even though he hadn’t realized he was carrying a weight. Suddenly it's so much easier to hit the call button later that night after receiving a text from Mitch. 

To say words he hasn't said in a long time, hasn’t said to someone who's not family. 

__

' _I miss you_.'

' _I wish you could be here_.'

' _With me_.'

' _I can't wait to see you again_.'

__

It’s easy to stroll through the airport mall in St. Louis and buy souvenirs. 

To hurry through Pearson because he can't wait to meet Mitch at the pick-up lane. 

To ask him to pull into a small side street the moment they leave the highway and loosen their seat belts so that he can finally kiss Mitch. 

__

It’s easy to undress Mitch in the hallway the second the door falls shut behind them and fuck him standing upright against the mirror. 

To cover his neck and throat and chest with bites and bruises and push into him almost too fast, too hard, too soon… only to repeat everything half an hour later with much more thoroughness and tenderness. 

To pick him up and spread him on his sheets, kissing every angry red spot he left before as an apology, licking down his spine and between his cheeks until Mitch is a sweaty cursing mess, tasting him until he's sobbing and shuddering, coming apart underneath him. 

__

It’s easy to hate the fact that they still have to use condoms, that there’s still something between them that is more than just skin. 

To watch him falling asleep, curled around the cushion, not touching; naked and carefree and vulnerable; face turned towards him, trusting. 

To not fall asleep because memorizing every freckle and mole, every single eyelash, is more important than sleeping. 

__

M: _Wanna come over tonight?_ -

M: _Won't make u sleep on the couch again -_

Auston reads the second text again. And again. And then stares at his phone for so long that Kappy nudges him with raised eyebrows, mouthing a silent ‘is everything okay?’ before he finally types a reply. (His fingers are not shaking at all.) 

A: _I get to sleep in ur bed? –_

M: _jeez don't be so enthusiastic bout it –_

A: _tough decision, man. me and ur couch go back a long time –_

M: _u can always sleep on the couch if u prefer that, don't want to get between u 2 -_

It's long after midnight when the cab finally drops him off on the corner. Snow is falling in thick heavy flakes, covering sidewalks and front yards once again, dancing in the orange light of street lamps and landing softly on Mitch's beanie, melting on his cheeks and pearling from his upper lip as he steps closer to Auston the second the cab pulls away from the curb. 

The strands of hair around his face are wet and his clothes are a mess as usual, but Mitch is still the best thing he has seen since he left for the road trip six days ago and Auston can almost hear the weight dropping from his shoulders. 

"Hi, cutie, come here often?" 

"Not at all, cab driver kicked me out here because I ran out of money. Looking for a place to sleep." 

"Lucky for you, I happen to know such a place." Mitch tips his index finger against his lips, once, twice, barely able to hide suppress his laughter. "But it comes with a price." 

"Sounds intriguing… tell me more." Auston chuckles, unable to tear his eyes from Mitch's fingertip, from the plush curve of his mouth that is so tempting he wants to taste it, can't wait to do so. It has been six days and he has been dreaming about it ever since. 

They’re so close now that he can smell the cinnamon of Mitch's gum, could probably count the few pale freckles on his nose and every single eyelash. So close that no snowflake could fall between them, close enough that he can feel the warmth radiating from Mitch's face. He inhales sharply when Mitch grasps the lapels of his coat, when he pulls him even closer. 

"It's half of a queen size, maybe only a third if the little princess decides to show up. Free breakfast is included, I even stocked up on veggies and any other boring things a pro hockey player could ask for." 

Auston's heart flutters (there's no other word for it) when his thumbs finally brush over Mitch's cheekbones, when Mitch melts into his embrace and he lifts his face so that Auston can take all the kisses he has been waiting for. 

"Sounds good, but what's the price?"

There are only inches away from kissing and every cell in his body screams at him to cross the distance and plunder. 

"Just fucking kiss me, you _fucker_." 

Auston complies before he even finishes the sentence. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still so overwhelmed from all your positive comments and feedback, soooo glad you love this story and their relationship. I'm sorry this is so slow built and basically fluff all around, but please endure me here, they are just so cute.  
> This chapter is at least a little bit darker, at least the beginning. The rest is more fluff and Auston-Ari cuteness... I'm sorry. Not sorry.  
> Hope you enjoy it ♥

“The things you said... last time.”

“I say a lot of things all the time, babe.” Mitch turns towards him, cuddles closer. He looks sleepy, his hair wet and messy. It’s a good look on him. It’s even better, since it’s all Auston’s fault, all his doing. The messiness and the sleepiness. "You have to be a bit more precise." 

And the softness. The smile. _He_ put it there. 

It's all instinct; happens automatically because everything about Mitch is emotions and reactions—nothing is planned or expected. The way they met, the way Auston started to fall for him. The way he's falling deeper and deeper, and not even scared of it anymore. 

He rolls onto his side so that they can face each other; blankets twisted around their legs, sharing one cushion, toes brushing, knees knocking. Mitch's skin is warm when Auston cups his face in his hand; his lips twitching when he traces their shape with his thumb. His smile is blinding, and all Auston's. 

"What you said about people who need others to keep their sadness at bay. People who’re missing their spark? Was that about Ariella's mum?" 

"You still remember that? That was just—" But then he interrupts himself, sighs. "I guess it was. Even though I didn't realize it." 

There are questions inside him that Auston didn't even know about. Questions he’s probably had for a long time. But he's not used to being the one asking questions, never cared enough to wonder with his previous hookups, although he never would have wondered anyway because they told him everything—willingly and openly, eager to have his attention, to be interesting to him. It feels like ages ago, but it wasn't. He hasn't missed it for one second.

(Does that make him shallow? A bad person?)

Mitch shifts closer, hides his face before Auston can complain, can stop him. Until he recognizes the gesture for what it is. 

Shame. Guilt. And sadness. 

"She was… so happy, so carefree. The most beautiful girl I've ever seen. Always laughing, always confident. I couldn't believe that she chose me out of all the losers hanging out at the pipe. Maybe she picked me because she thought I was the same. But there was something dark and sad inside her—something I only started to see later. Something I didn't share. Or… maybe it was inside of me, too? I don't know. Maybe it was, or maybe it was just the wish to be with her and share everything? Sometimes I think it was the former… Sometimes I know it was the former and that if it weren't for Dylan, I'd have gone down that road, too." His voice is just above a whisper, just loud enough for Auston to grasp it. With a quiver that betrays all his emotions. 

"At first it was just beer that we got from the others. Then it was weed and vodka. We skated and had fun and later we smoked up or got drunk, or both. I didn't notice when it changed for Penny, when she became more interested in the drugs than the skating. But I remember coming back from a junior competition in LA, all hyped up and so eager to get better, to finally master the _Impossible_ … and she was there, but also not? Two days later she said she knows a guy that can get us some candy. I said no, of course, because weed and alcohol is one thing, but X?" 

Auston can feel him shiver in his arms, the skin underneath his fingers is cold; yet he doesn't dare move to pull the blanket higher around them. 

"Two weeks later she slipped one into my mouth while we were kissing at a party. It was… I never wanted to do that again, but I think I would've. Dylan got me out before it was too late, insisted that I should move in with them again, told me what I would lose. It was the wake-up call I needed." 

Auston can't do anything but listen. Nose buried in Mitch's hair, hands around his body, surrounding him as much as he can while he's surrounded by Mitch's past. 

"Turned out that moving in with Dylan was the best and worst thing I could've done; the best for me, and the worst for her. I couldn't stop her… I tried, I really tried."

"That— Mitch, that wasn't your job." 

"Dylan and Mac told me that often enough. And I understand it now, but then? Aus—I was sixteen and I loved her so much. _So, so, much_. And all I could do was stand by and watch her destroy her body and soul, and her future. I know I couldn't have helped her, but every time I left for a tournament or something… every time I came back she looked worse." 

Finally, Auston can't listen anymore, can't stop himself from sliding down Mitch's body so that they are face to face. Not because Mitch is crying. Because he's _not_ crying. Because he has probably never cried about this. 

(Because there is a sadness hiding in his eyes that even his mama could see and now Auston can't unsee it.)

"When she found out that she was pregnant it was too late for an abortion, but the chances that the baby would be healthy and well with all the stuff she'd been taking for months… You should have heard her talking that night after the appointment. That having to give birth to a disabled baby was her punishment, that I should leave her and run before she would ruin my life as well." The shivering increases, as if the temperature in the room is freezing; Auston can feel it in his whole body, can see goosebumps on Mitch's cheeks even in the low light of the room. It should be impossible for Mitch to continue; his teeth clacking so much that Auston wouldn't be surprised if he bit his own tongue. 

Suddenly he feels helpless, unsure what to do—if he made a serious mistake by asking about Ariella's mum. Because Mitch is looking right through him, not seeing him at all. He wants to help, to shake him, to cup his hands around Mitch's face and hold him, to force him to stop shaking, to bring him back from the past into the present, where he is safe, where Ariella is safe. 

But he doesn't dare, doesn't dare to even move. To do anything but whisper Mitch's name, over and over. Quietly and softly, while his heart races inside his chest so fast that it's painful, that he's afraid it could break just like Mitch's broke that day. 

Then - as suddenly as it started - it stops. 

The trembling, the goosebumps, the faraway look; everything. 

And he's back with Auston. His hands come around Auston's wrists, around his face, around his body. With a blink and a short, hard laugh he's back. As if it hadn't happened. Warm and sweet in Auston's arms. The only reminder that it really happened is the sadness in his voice when Mitch continues. 

"Even when we learned that Ella was fine, Penny couldn't forgive herself, couldn't think of Ari as her baby, said that she didn't deserve her, that she wasn't ready. I wasn't either, but I also wasn't ready to give this little girl away. When I told Dylan—he didn't laugh, didn't call me crazy. If he'd done that… I think I would’ve listened to him. I mean, I couldn't have done it without him and his family." 

"Do you regret anything?"

Mitch shakes his head. Without any hesitation, without breaking eye contact with Auston. 

"Penny broke up with me when I told her. Not because she was mad… she just couldn't—I think she knew it would make her too sad, that it wasn't enough to save her. But I also think it was the reason she totally gave up. She gave in to all the sadness and despair, all the darkness that was inside of her… I couldn’t stay in contact with her during that time. For both of our sakes but I heard the guys talk at the shop or at the skating park. It wasn't my fault, because it wasn't my job—you can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved. And yet… it sometimes still feels like I had a choice and I chose the easy way."

Auston swallows. He’s unable to speak, unable to reassure Mitch that he did the right thing, that he didn't choose the easy way. It's not necessary, because he's sure that Mitch knows. He’s unable to console Mitch. It's not possible to do anything, because there is nothing he can say—nothing he can offer him. Nothing Auston has ever experienced can compare to this. 

He’s unable to move. 

But it's not important because Mitch pulls himself closer, pulls Auston's arms and body over and around his. Buries his face against Auston's collarbone, breathes words and kisses into his skin. As if Auston is the one who needs comfort. 

__

Auston doesn't fall asleep. He can't. 

Not even when Mitch has long since dozed off, with a smile in the corner of his mouth and his hand curled around Auston's waist. Like the last time they had seen each other, Auston lies awake and watches him in the dim light of the lamp on his nightstand, takes everything in. 

The mess of clothes on the chair behind the door. The old closet, painted with fingerprints that are probably Ariella's: blue and red and green and yellow. 

It's the first time he's sleeping in Mitch’s bed, the first time he's sleeping in this room. And it's so different from what he had imagined. As if he opened a door to a room he didn't expect—that is darker and yet so much more beautiful than he ever dreamed of. That smells of detergent and Old Spice and cinnamon. That tastes of soap and skin and a bit of Auston's cologne. That is illuminated with the warmest colour and alive with the breathing of the person next to him.

He’s still awake when he hears soft and quick steps in the hallway, the creaking of the door when it opens and Ariella's little dark head peaks in. Sleepy and messy like her dad. 

If she's surprised to find him here she doesn't show it; maybe because he doesn't hesitate to pull the covers back and make room for her. Maybe because she's more asleep than awake. Maybe because Mitch immediately lets go of Auston and rolls over to embrace her and press dreamy kisses against her cheek. Whispers soft, comforting words against her face and smiles the most beautiful smile Auston has ever seen while he rearranges the blankets around them. Then Mitch’s fingers search for Auston's again and hold onto him—as if he's aware of Auston's insecurity, of his feeling of loss, of not belonging there. 

The wordless plea to stay is enough... To lull him in finally. The sound of two people breathing is strange to him but also repetitive and cozy and suddenly it’s the easiest thing in the world to fall asleep. 

Auston sleeps without dreaming and wakes up before his alarm, to the slow movements of Ariella next to him, to her wandering fingertips that touch his face; brushing over his scruff and his nose, following his eyebrows and tickling his lips until he has to sneeze. Her reaction is a bright startling giggle. 

"You're ‘wake." 

"Yeah, now I am." 

"Can we wake daddy?" 

"I— I'm not sure he would appreciate that. Maybe we should let him sleep a bit longer. He stayed up late yesterday." 

Which is not true. At least not compared to Auston. But she doesn't have to know that. 

"He said you would come and I wanted to stay wake so that we could have playtime. But then I fell asleep." 

She looks serious; a bit upset, disappointed in herself. Auston doesn't know what to say—this feels as unfamiliar as the first time he'd seen her, even though it shouldn’t. He has stayed over often enough, has read books to her, coloured with her, even played house with her and Alex. But right now, alone with her and the easy and adorable affection that she throws around like her father. 

With everything that he has learned last night. 

How close Mitch came to not having her, how much of a miracle she is. 

_It’s all different_. 

"We can have playtime now, if you want? So that your daddy can sleep a bit more?" He offers, for lack of other ideas and helpless in the face of her expression. For a fraction of a second, he thinks he can see a smile on Mitch's face, just a twitch of his lips; it could be a reaction to a dream that he's having… or he could totally be awake and enjoying making Auston suffer. 

But then it's gone, and Ariella's excitement is enough to distract him, so he lets her drag him out of bed and out of the room. Suddenly he's glad that Mitch insisted on sweats and a shirt last night. And even more when they climb down the stairs and find Dylan and Alex in the kitchen. Both so much more awake than he is, and both smirking at him with glee and mischievousness. 

"Good morning Auston."

"You look like you could use so much more sleep."

"Had a long night?" 

"You're hilarious, both of you." 

"If you're nice to us and the little princess we could be persuaded to make you some coffee." 

"Auston can't drink coffee, we have playtime now." For someone so little Ariella has a lot of strength, and she uses it all to pull him along to the playroom. 

Ten minutes later Auston is laying on the floor while Ariella treats his ‘hurting’ knee with some bandages and a plastic stethoscope that she presses all over his thigh. He's not sure what she's listening for, but obviously she's not happy with the results because she decided that he needs an injection. 

It tickles in the back of his knee, and the second she hears him laughing and realizes that it’s her doing she decides that he needs many more shots, before she finally gives up all pretense and just attacks him with her tiny fingers, laughing so hard that she's hiccupping and Dylan calls from the kitchen to ask if Auston needs help. 

"It's okay, Dyls. I'll save big Auston from the attack of a 5-year-old." 

The sight of Mitch in the doorway shouldn't be so relieving, shouldn't make him feel so happy—but it does. And it's not just because Ariella finally releases him and throws herself into her father's arms with an excited squeal. It makes him happy because this is the Mitch he knows… But it's also the Mitch he got to know better last night. The one that scared him so much and the one that opened up so much to him. The one that revealed something that was hidden inside of him. That made Auston think and feel things he's never felt before.

"Can I give the patient a good morning kiss before you kill him with your cuddle-fingers?"

She cocks her head, thinks about it for a full five seconds. Finally, she nods benevolently and loosens her grip around Mitch's neck so that he can drop down next to Auston and press a soft kiss onto his lips. It's probably the most innocent kiss Auston has ever received from someone who wasn't family and definitely the most innocent kiss he has ever received from Mitch. It doesn't stop him from following his mouth and lifting himself onto his elbows. At least until Ariella stops him in the middle and pushes him back down.

"Nooo you're hurt, you can't get up yet. I have to make you better first." 

"You're so right, sweetie, but I really don't think Auston needs any more injections." 

She looks so disappointed that Auston is afraid that Mitch would cave and they both would team up and wrestle him down to tickle him. 

"Maybe… maybe he needs a band-aid, daddy. Can we get some?" 

"That's an awesome idea, sweetheart. You gonna get some of yours from the kitchen?"

"Yes!!" 

Ariella is out of the room before Auston can even blink. 

"Wow… How did you—" 

"Experience. And you're welcome." Mitch drops down next to him, spreads himself out on the fluffy raspberry carpet before rolling over so that he's pressed alongside Auston. His head is a welcome weight on his upper arm, his warmth and scent enough to let him close his eyes and wish that he could drift off right now. 

"If I remember correctly it was you who got to sleep in while I distracted her." 

"And I just made it up to you. Because—let's face it: you were totally helpless here." 

(That may be the truth, but if Auston doesn't admit it it's not true, right?)

"Maybe I was waiting for my saviour?" 

(And if he admits it… if it makes Mitch smile…)

"Maybe I was waiting for my prince?"

(Maybe that's worth it?)

"Do you know how good you look right now? What I want to do to you right now?" Mitch groans into his elbow. It should be gross, but it's not. It shouldn't be hot, but it is. "No one should look this good after four hours of sleep. No one should look this good while lying on the floor of my daughter’s playroom." 

Auston turns towards him as much as he can with Mitch's weight on his upper arm, with Mitch's blue eyes fixed on him, making it hard to breathe, to speak, to do anything that is not kissing him. 

"I'd say the same, except you got so much more sleep." 

"You take what you can get when you have a kid, even if it requires some dirty plays to accomplish it." 

"I'm not sure if this is you trying to talk hockey or to seduce me. But I have to inform you that neither is working."

"Are you sure…?" Mitch bats his eyelashes—a ridiculous move and Auston wants to laugh, would have laughed if Mitch didn't climb on top of him so fast that he couldn't even think about stopping him. If he didn't start to kiss down his chest, sucking a hickey right over his heart. A spot that would always be covered so that no one could see it. So that it would always be just Auston’s to feel.

Would have laughed if Ariella didn't bounce back into the room two seconds later—before Mitch has enough time to make it the nice bruise he intended. 

"I brought so much band-aids. Do you wanna help me, daddy?" 

Would have laughed if Mitch's mischievous grin didn't take away his breath.

"Of course, sweetie. What do we have—oh, Auston gets the princesses band-aid? Wow, that is really generous of you. Why did I only get the boring Star Wars band-aid last time? I'm hurt." 

Would have laughed if he wasn't so busy being happy. 

(Mitch and Dylan can act out Episode 5 with different voices forward and backward, so Auston is pretty sure Mitch doesn’t mind the Star Wars band-aid at all.) 

__

He didn’t plan it, would probably have tried to avoid it if he could, but somehow he ends up with Dylan alone at the kitchen table. 

Brinks and Alex left to drop off Mitch and Ariella at the daycare on their way downtown a couple of minutes ago while he was still trying to get in his fill of coffee. And now he’s pretending to be busy with his phone and willing time to move faster to have an excuse to leave as fast as possible while also avoiding Dylan's gaze. 

He wouldn't put it past them to have set this all up. 

"So…" Dylan starts, not very smoothly. But Auston knows him well enough by now to know that smoothness and Dylan go together like Mitch and vegetables. Or like Willy and subtlety. And suddenly he's thankful that those two haven't met yet and silently vows to never let that happen on his watch. 

"So…?" He leans back and finally looks at him, puts his phone down without any hurry. "You're the one who drew the short straw on giving me the shovel talk?" 

"Shovel talk?" Dylan blinks innocently. (He misses it by a mile.) "I've got no idea what you mean."

"The part where you tell me that they'll never find my dead body after you're done with me if I ever hurt Mitch?" 

"Oh, no, no, I won't, don't worry."

"You— you won't?" Somehow this makes Auston even more suspicious. 

"But I can tell you exactly what Brinksy will do to you so they’ll never find your dead body because Alex’s parents have this little cottage near Niagara-by-the-lake, and that’s just a perfect hiding place." 

"Not if you tell me in advance."

"That's why Connor is studying to become the most awesome lawyer." Another blink, less innocent and definitely gloating this time. "They will thank us for getting rid of you." 

Auston is a bit impressed and a lot amused. He laughs. 

"Good thing that I don't plan on hurting him." 

"Yeah, definitely a good thing." Dylan stands up. "Another coffee?" 

"I would but, morning skate." 

"We have travel mugs." 

Auston gets up and watches while Dylan rummages in the kitchen, puts the milk into the microwave and adds a pinch of cinnamon and three drops of maple syrup before he can object. It's a sight almost as familiar as finding Connor and Alex leaning over dozens of books on the dining table, or Mitch cuddling with Ariella on the couch while watching Disney movies. 

The microwave hums loudly as they both watch the green digital numbers counting down from 27 to zero. 

"Mitch… he told me about Penny last night." 

Auston doesn’t know why he says it. 

If it’s to prove to Dylan that Mitch decided he’s worth trusting, to pay him back for the barely veiled caution Dylan sometimes addresses him with. Or if it's because he doesn't know how to handle the knowledge, the emotions that Mitch has obviously buried deep underneath his cheeriness and friendliness. 

The clank when the mug slips out of Dylan’s hand is nevertheless satisfying. Proves to him, at least, that he's special to Mitch, that Mitch isn't like this with everyone—even when it sometimes appears like that; with his honesty and openness. 

"He did? He told you about her?" 

Thankfully none of the coffee got spilled, apart from a few droplets that Dylan wipes from the counter and licks from the back of his hand. But his eyes never leave Auston's face. As if he's figuring out if Auston is telling him the truth or if he's just fucking with him. 

"Yeah. He… I asked about her because of something he said last time and then he—" 

The microwave dings; interrupting him and his thoughts. And that's probably okay, probably enough for Dylan to understand. 

"I'm glad he told you… but—don't get me wrong here. It's not the same to just _know_ about it, okay?" 

Auston had been prepared for the shovel talk; only now he realizes that hadn't been one. Because _this_ is it. And contrary to what Dylan said before, he's totally able to do it by himself. Even though he probably doesn't even think it is one. 

But everything about his posture, the tense line above his eyebrows and around his mouth makes it clear; this is actually the part Auston should have been worried about. He doesn't know much about Dylan, only as much as he can considering that they met only four weeks ago, based on what Mitch has told him or what he has figured out by himself. 

He knows that he is fun, that he is as easy-going and kind and optimistic as Mitch, maybe even more so—warmer, softer, more caring.

Yet right now, all of that is gone and he's as hard as steel and his eyes are fixed upon Auston's with a fierce protectiveness and cold that he's not sure how to react to. 

It makes Auston sure that he can only say the wrong thing. 

"I know…" he tries. "Trust me on this; I _know_. And I don't take it for granted. And I'm sorry that I used it against you." 

Maybe it was the only right thing he could say. Maybe Dylan recognized that Auston is at least trying. Or maybe he just remembered it was Mitch's choice… Because he nods. Because the tension leaves his body as suddenly as it came, and he manages a small smile. 

"And I'm sorry I used it against you. That I was _there_ , that I was the one who had to pick up the pieces after Mitch broke apart. It's—" Dylan turns around and opens the microwave. Rubs his hand over his neck as if he could wipe away the past few moments. As if he admits defeat. "It wasn't fair… It’s not your fault that you weren't there when you couldn't have been."

"I'm glad… about that. I mean that I wasn't." 

This should be like dealing with the media, and Auston should be capable of doing it. But it isn't and Auston is still bad at it. Because it isn't like dealing with the media. It's real ~~and he cares~~. 

"Because I couldn't have done it." 

(Maybe this is a thank you, even though they both don’t know why.) 

The words hang between them, grave and too serious—too honest while Dylan finishes preparing his coffee, his back towards Auston. His dark curls are in disarray, he’s clad only in ratty sweatpants and a flimsy, too wide shirt (Brinksy's, Auston doesn't even have to ask) that is sliding off his left shoulder. Auston leans against the counter, fingers idly playing with his used fork, scratching the leftover yolk on his plate and ignoring his phone vibrating insistently on the table. 

There is a pattern of black ink on Dylan's shoulder blade; swirls and lines that look familiar although Auston has never seen them before on Dylan. It’s so intriguing that he leaves his place and steps over to him, touches Dylan’s shoulder without waiting for his permission, only mumbling a short apology when he feels Dylan go rigid in front of him. Brushes away the strap so that he can see the whole tattoo, only looking, not tracing—not tracing it as he has done before. 

_As he has done before with Mitch's_. 

"That's…" He begins and then stops himself. 

"Yeah," Dylan flinches, shrugs away and finishes pouring the warm milk into the travel mug. "We got it together." 

There are so many questions on his tongue, but then Dylan turns around and Auston doesn’t ask one. Instead, he takes the mug and mumbles a short thank you. 

He doesn’t know why. 

Maybe he’s not ready for more answers and secrets today. 

__

"Is there something you wanna tell us, Matts?" 

Auston is pretty sure there isn’t and when he says so, Naz grins at him.

"But you know that keeping secrets isn’t good. Come on, you know you can trust us, right?" 

"I'm pretty sure I can't trust any one of you dicks. Sorry, Patty." 

He continues rubbing his hair dry with one hand while checking his phone with the other. At least, that's what he's pretending to do. Yet the snickers and smirks of Naz and Kappy are hard to ignore, just like the way they elbow Freddie and Zach and whisper something in their ears. It's too loud in the locker room to understand more than ' _love_ ' and ' _pretty_ ' and ' _always knew it_ '. Their gazes and jokes are like cold fingers on his neck, like a weight on his shoulders and he barely manages to finish replying to Bree before he turns around and faces them.

_"What?"_

At the very least, he wants to know why they are laughing, given they’re doing it at his expense. 

"Did someone swap my shampoo with hair dye or something?" (It's not junior league anymore but with these childish assholes one can never be too sure.) 

"No… but—now, that you’re giving me the idea… blond would really make your eyes pop." Willy quips. "But you may wanna check your knees, and then maybe explain your sudden love for Sleeping Beauty? I always thought you had a thing for brunettes." 

"What are—oh." 

He doesn't need to turn around and check it. He totally forgot about the band-aids that Ariella patched him up with. But when he does, he finds them all still in place, Sleeping Beauty, Rapunzel, and Elsa. All stuck to his calves and the back of his knee where she put them this morning. 

_Great_. 

"Yeah, sorry, I forgot to tell you about that… Didn't you know?"

"About your love for Disney princesses or that you're a sap at heart? Because we totally knew both, but it's great that you're embracing it openly now and don't feel shy about it anymore." 

"Let it all out, let it gooo, let it gooooo." Naz starts to sing, because he's like 15. 

"I'm too happy to deal with you." Auston turns around and picks up his phone again. 

A: _the guys discovered your daughters band aid. -_

He finishes rubbing his hair dry and getting dressed, occasionally rolling his eyes whenever one of the guys chuckles behind him or bats their eyelashes towards him. They are childish and silly—but that's nothing that should surprise him or ruin the day for him. 

When he's ready to leave (hair still slightly wet and without bothering to even say a short goodbye to the room) he gets a reply from Mitch. 

M: _sorry… didn't think about that. R u mad? -_

He isn't. 

The door falls shut behind him, and the last thing he hears is Kappy calling after him. 

"Going home to kiss your sleeping beauty?"

They are all idiots and Auston is doing the smartest thing possible when he ignores them. 

__ 

W: _So, band-aids from the little princess? -_

Willy texts him while he's staring at the traffic light before the ramp to the Gardiner.

W: _Does this mean that you had a sleepover at Mitch's again? -_

It doesn't look like it's going to turn green anytime soon, so he picks up his phone and hits the call button. For some reason, Willy had been surprisingly nice about the whole band-aid fiasco, and Auston feels magnanimous today. ~~Also a bit smug~~.

“Yeah, that's exactly what it means.”

“I’d say congrats. But only if you tell me that you’ve finally made it into his bed.”

Auston starts to regret calling him already and drums his fingers against the steering wheel. Driving in Toronto sucks as usual. Just like the fact that the only entertainment comes from talking to Willy, and ignoring the incoming texts from Naz who's sending him screencaps of Disney princesses. He should rethink his life choices. Or at least his choices of friends. 

Why doesn't the fucking traffic light turn green?

“Don't know why I'm telling you this, but yeah.”

“Your back and all of Leafs Nation will thank you in the future. So congrats, and feel free to never tell me more.”

“That sounds more like a request.” 

“Yeah, no, I already know more than I want to about this mess you call your sex life.”

“He's coming to the game on Saturday.”

“Does this mean that I'm finally going to meet him?”

“You’ve already met him.” Auston rolls his eyes, but is mildly amused that Willy sounds so enthusiastic.

“I mean officially.” 

"I don’t think it will get more official than a sick kids fundraiser?" 

“ _Excuse me_ , you both kind of disappeared before I could say more than three words to him.”

Finally the traffic moves on and he gets to focus on something else, so he drops the phone into the cup holder. 

“Sorry, I had no idea that you wanted to hit on him, too.” 

“He’s hot, of course I would have wanted... Hey, is that the reason you don’t want me to meet him? You’re scared that he could move on to someone better looking?” 

Auston doesn’t haven’t to see him to know that Willy’s smirking, to know that he’s just talking dumb shit like always. Shit he doesn’t have to dignify with an answer. 

But he’s in a good enough mood that he does.

“Sorry, bud, I’m afraid he’s not shallow enough for that.”

“He’s shallow enough to fall for you.” 

For about ten seconds Auston is too distracted with traffic while he pulls onto the Gardiner to even think of a reply, finally able to push down the gas pedal and drive faster than 30 mph. He sighs with relief and also mentally curses whoever made the practice schedule this season. Or whoever thought it would be smart to have the training facilities out in Etobicoke because the Gardiner is a gateway to hell 24/7. 

(At least like this he can catch up with his family and buddies.)

“Trust me, there’s nothing shallow about him at all.” He finally says. And from the long pause until Willy answers him he can tell that he’s probably just behind him, trying to weave his way into the stream of trucks and cars heading downtown. 

“Is this frustration that I can hear?”

Willy sounds tentative. Like an invitation. And for a second Auston is tempted… but then he shrugs it away. Presses the gas pedal down more. 

Not today. 

__

Mitch comes over next weekend before he has to fly to San Francisco for a commercial shoot. 

And it’s like before. 

Before Auston learned about Ariella and everything. 

It’s good. It’s _so_ good. 

Mitch brings his travel bag and his board. Drops everything in the hallway like before. Drops his jacket, and then his pants and his sweater. 

It hasn’t been that long, but suddenly it seems like ages since Auston got him like this. All for himself. No flatmates, no daughter. No one on Mitch’s mind but him. 

He’s hard—like a Pavlovian response to seeing Mitch naked. In his apartment, like he belongs _here_. 

This time they don’t end up on the couch. They don’t talk about hockey. They don’t talk about anything. They make love. First in the shower, then in his bed. 

And when Auston points out the flaws of this particular order, Mitch laughs and shifts closer to him. So warm, so pliant, so inviting that he can’t bring himself to leave the bed and get wipes or a wet cloth. Can’t bring himself to do anything but pull Mitch in, wind his arms around his back, pull him over his body like a blanket. Can’t bring himself to mind that they are sweaty and sticky. Not when Mitch’s face is tucked into the crook of his neck, when his breath is caressing over his throat and chest, when Mitch’s fingers are digging into his flesh and when Mitch’s smile is everything—blissed out and almost innocent if it weren’t for what they’ve just done. 

(There is nothing innocent about him, Auston knows. Has known right from the start. So he doesn’t understand why he always feels like that.) 

If it weren’t for Mitch’s next words. 

“No, no shower, please. No wipes. I—I want to smell you on me when I leave tomorrow. I want to carry you with me on the plane.” He brushes his nose over Auston’s skin, hair tickling while he sucks in deep breaths. Then he sighs. 

“I’m pretty sure that I smell pretty gross at the moment.” 

“You smell good, like _really_ good.” Another sniff and another sigh. 

“Compared to airplane smell, that’s not really a compliment.” 

“Oh my god I haven’t even thought of _that_.” he whines and quickly inhales again and again until Auston is a bit afraid that he’ll start hyperventilating. "How can you smell so good?"

"You wouldn't say that if you met me right after a game." 

"And I know why." Mitch laughs but stays where he is so that his breath tickles over Auston's skin while his fingertips wander over Auston's chest—a soft and barely-there touch that he can feel even in his toes. All tingling and hot-warm, appeasing and exciting at the same time. 

"Aus, can I tell you something?" He lifts his head for the first time, bites his lips. But thankfully he continues before Auston's heart has time to beat faster. "It's not bad… it's just. I lied about my flight back."

"Okay…?"

"I booked the flight for Monday night."

"And that means…?" 

"It means we can hang out on Tuesday, dummy. Because the others will pick up Ella from daycare and do bedtime. They think I won't be back until midnight." 

Auston hums, still half-distracted by the caresses, by the togetherness, until he catches the wandering fingers with his own. Mitch hasn't told him about any flights yet, apart from the one tomorrow. Hadn't even told him when he would come back. He mentally checks his calendar for the next few days; games, practices, media appointments. 

"I mean, I—I checked your schedule, I know you have the game in the evening, but I thought, well…" Mitch averts his eyes, probably bites his lips again. "But if you're busy we don't have to hang out! I can totally tell the others when I get here that I changed flights. No problem at all. And if you don't want to that's also fine, of course. I just thought that we—that we hardly had time to hang out just the two of us lately…"

The rambling is adorable, just like the flush that is still spread on Mitch's shoulders and chest, like his messy and too long hair. Auston couldn't have looked away if he tried. Willy would call him embarrassing. 

(But Willy isn't here and Auston can look as much as he wants.) 

Although he has to stop Mitch from freaking out first. 

"Can you—can you please stop for a second?" His hand is around Mitch's face, tips it back so that he can meet his gaze again. (Tries to not think about how easy it is, how easy Mitch gives in and leans back to look at him. With a slightly open mouth and wide, wide blue eyes.)

"Thanks. Jesus. Why don't you ever shut your mouth?"

"It's my only defence. Like I talk so that I don't—"

Auston puts his hand over Mitch's mouth, makes him _shut up_.

"I want to. Hang out with you. I really do. So all your arguments are pointless, okay? I'll have to check my schedule for, like, practice and stuff. But even if I have some things coming up… I'll make it work, okay?" 

Mitch's face is small in his hands; his skin warm and soft while he blinks. So small and warm and soft and his lips are chapped… and Auston has to lower his head and take a kiss, take two kisses until his mouth is filled with the taste of cinnamon and cherry and his mind is filled with _Mitch_. 

"I'll make it work. I'll get you from Pearson or I'll tell the doorman that he can let you in and you can hang out till I get back from practice and we can... I don't know. You can come to the game if you want? I don't know, I don't care, okay?" He stops—gets stopped by Mitch's mouth on his. 

"That sounds good. I love it." 

__

Auston doesn't imagine Mitch ending that sentence differently. He doesn't think about the sound of Mitch's voice before he dozes off. Or the sound of his voice the next morning while he fumbles around in the dark for his clothes, cursing quietly when he stubs his toe on the armchair. 

When he bends down to whisper in Auston's ear before pressing an innocent kiss onto his cheek.

'I borrowed one of your hoodies, hope that's okay?" 

(All hoarse and dry and slow with tiredness.) 

__

Auston doesn't have any illusions about ever getting that hoodie back. 

But he gets a snap of Mitch wearing it on the plane, all bundled up, headphones in place just like his usual wide grin. 

Maybe it's a fair exchange. 

__

He also doesn't have any illusions about forgetting that look anytime soon. 

Without that weird, aching and too big feeling inside his chest. 

__

Mitch's plane lands while he's in practice so he can't drive to Pearson and get him. But he knows that Mitch will be waiting for him at his place and maybe that's even better. 

Because Auston can walk over to him where he's sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter; dressed just like he was in the snap with Auston's hoodie and wearing his headphones while he bobs along with an inaudible beat. A disposable cup of coffee beside him and a six-pack of donuts that is mostly empty already, which explains the rush with which he's typing wildly on his laptop. 

Because he can sneak up on him and place his cold hands on the bare skin of his neck; watch him jerk in surprise and yank down the headphones before breaking out into a blinding smile. 

Because he can lean in and kiss him right away without waiting until they’re out of the airport and the public eye. 

It's indeed better. 

Mitch tastes of coffee and sugar and everything he has missed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m on [ **tumblr** ](https://miss-malheur.tumblr.com/). Come and yell to me about these idiots.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm halfway out of the door to go on vacation... but here's a quick update because I told someone I would update before vacation and usually I try to keep my promises. Also because I was told a couple of times by someone else that this is their highlight of the week and that was one of the nicest things I've ever heard about my stories ♥ 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter ~~and write me lots of nice comments for when I'm back from my trip~~.

"Hey, are you busy right now?" Mitch sounds breathless even through the phone. There’s a commotion in the background; cars honking, people passing by, the clacking of wheels on the cracks of the sidewalk. 

"No, I'm not. Just got out of practice. But please tell me you're not on the board while you're calling me." 

"Well, you're driving, so…"

As if that's the same. Although for Mitch it probably is. Except there’s quite a difference between sitting in the usual traffic on the Gardiner protected by a half a foot of steel and bracing the chaos that is Dundas Street with nothing but kneecaps and a helmet. Auston rolls his eyes but says nothing. 

"Listen, I know that you're probably busy with the playoffs and all that… I need a big favour from you. I'll make it up to you, you won't regret it."

"Sounds intriguing."

"You can name anything you want me to do, really, I'll do it." 

Maybe it's the suggestion in Mitch's voice or the fact that they haven't seen each other since playoffs started, but Auston's thoughts immediately wander off to a place where they shouldn't go while he's behind the steering wheel of a car (not even one that is only going 5mph). 

"Anything I want?" He asks because as much as he tries, he can't stop these pictures. "Even the thing you said you'd never do?" 

It's a joke; something that Mitch probably knows, too. Because he wouldn't have offered it otherwise. Because _he_ is a tease. A terrible tease who's not above using all of Auston's weaknesses against him. 

"Jeez, you can't let that go? But yeah, even that." Mitch sounds amused. "Although I still don't get what’s so hot about me wearing—Anyway, I'll do it."

"Great, so what do you want from me? 

"Okay… I know that I kind of tricked you here, so you can still say no? Okay? I just—I have no one else I can ask. Or I mean, I have but honestly, I don't want to ask one of the other mom's from the daycare group and taking the TTC is just… a mess." He exhales heavily as if Auston knows anything about that. "So, if you can't or don't want to, we still get by."

Auston rolls his eyes again but doesn't say anything; more because Mitch's stammering is cute and he still hasn't explained what the favour is than because he's annoyed. If anything, the phone call has, so far, been a welcome distraction from the tedious affair that is driving into the city late on a Saturday morning. 

"So, we’ve agreed on the conditions, but can you please get to the point?"

Mitch inhales deeply and takes a few seconds to slide his tongue against the back of his teeth; his piercing creating a clicking noise that is audible even through the speaker—something he only does when he's super nervous or embarrassed. 

"Can you pick me and Ella-Bella up from her friend’s birthday party later?" 

He rushes through the words so fast that Auston has to make him repeat them. 

"It's at this indoor playground in North York and I have no idea how to get back home afterward. I mean, I could ask one of the mom's who will be there but honestly? After spending the whole afternoon getting grilled by them, I'm so not keen on spending more time with one of them. They are just sooo nosy, as if I'm the only single dad in the world, they’re always either trying to set me up or feed me… it's just. Too much." 

This is not what Auston has expected—not that he really knows what he expected. Certainly not this. He can feel his smile disappear and his hands clench around the steering wheel. 

"And yeah, we can take the TTC, but it won’t be late until we get home and it's supposed to rain tonight… so I thought that maybe you could come and pick us up?" 

"I—Mitch, I'm… I'm not sure if this is a good idea." 

His agent (or Willy and Patty) would probably say that it's a bad idea actually. A very bad idea. 

"You don't have to talk to anyone, you don't even have to leave the car. Text me and we'll run out and be gone before someone sees you. No one will notice you." 

And then when Auston doesn't reply—while he still taps his steering wheel and changes the radio station; because he's not sure. Not sure because he still thinks it's a bad idea. Not sure, because his resolve usually starts to crumble whenever Mitch asks him for something.

"I promise." 

It's not fair. Really not. Not fair that Mitch can do this to him, that he's not even aware of it. (Or maybe he is, but then it would just be cruel, and Auston knows that there's not a bad bone in his body.)

"Text me the address and when the party is supposed to end." He exhales dramatically, trying to at least make it sound like it's a huge thing, a huge favour he's doing for him. As if he has many other important things going on this afternoon. 

As if he wouldn't do anything to see Mitch and Ariella after almost two weeks of playoff games. He doesn't have to look at the screen to know that Mitch is grinning wide and happily. 

(He does anyway because it's been two weeks and that is two weeks longer than he wants to go without seeing Mitch's huge smile.)

"Thank you so much, you won't regret it." Mitch flicks his tongue over his bottom lip and Auston already starts to regret it. 

A bit, at least. 

Two minutes later he receives a text with the address, followed by another.

M: _Maybe don't bring the Lamborghini. Draws too much attention. -_

Auston rolls his eyes. Texts back ' _there's no space for Ari's car seat_ '. 

__

Auston doesn't take the Lamborghini. He doesn't even _own_ a Lamborghini. 

But he drives to North York in the afternoon and only curses about a dozen times while he's stuck in traffic on Yonge Street. He keeps thinking about how he should be napping right now, and about how this is maybe his only chance to see Mitch for the next two weeks. 

The rain thunders against his window, so heavy and hard that his windscreen wipers have trouble clearing it away and it drowns out the sound of the radio. He's almost glad that he agreed to pick up Mitch and Ari—if he woke up right now and pictured them walking to a bus stop (both in identical yellow raincoats, cowering underneath a too-small umbrella…) he would have regretted it. 

He texts Mitch when he's approximately ten minutes away from the playground; a simple message that is answered within a minute with a satisfying ping and an even more satisfying and overexaggerated ' _thank god, they're eating me alive_ '. Followed by ' _El is super excited 2 c u_ ' and then ' _Just like me_ '. 

Auston doesn't reply—Mitch may wear his heart on his sleeve, but sometimes it's hard to deal with that. 

And then, when he approaches the entrance of the indoor playground and sees two small figures crouched under a single umbrella and dressed exactly as he pictured… both beaming at him. Then it's so easy. So easy that he's out of the car without even thinking, rounding it and opening the back door to help Ariella climb in—her arms wet around his neck when she hugs him with an excited squeal. After that, he helps Mitch load backpacks and boxes with leftovers into the trunk. Not stopping to take in Mitch's huge smile, or the way his hair hangs into his eyes. 

It's raining so hard that he's completely soaked after the two minutes it takes him to store everything and get back into the driver seat, waiting for Mitch to install the car seat for Ariella while she tells him animatedly about the party and birthday cake and how she played air hockey with her dad.

"So, is your dad any good?" 

"He's the best! He beated all the other dads!"

He doesn't look at Mitch because he knows that he's grinning; just as proud as Ariella and with that spark in his eyes—it usually gives Auston's many ideas and none of them are appropriate, especially not with a five-year-old on the backseat. 

"'Beat, Ari, not beated. And there were only two other dads." He falls into the passenger seat, drenched and emanating coolness, smelling of rain and with red cheeks. But he's still smiling wide. "Girl birthday parties are more of a mom scene. That room just looked like princess pinkie pie exploded." 

"Pinkie Pie is not a princess, dad!" 

"She's not?!"

"No, daddy, Celestia is the princess." 

Auston has no idea what Ari is talking about but the disapproval in her voice is obvious even to him. 

"Well, I think she should be a princess." 

"You can't just become a princess, _daddy_. It's not a job."

"That's true." Mitch nods seriously and understandingly, but Auston can see that he's actually biting his cheeks in order to not laugh out loud before he has his face under control again and turns around to look at his daughter. When Auston finally manages to pull out of the parking lot and back into traffic, the rain is thundering on the rooftop and the windows are starting to fog up. 

"You're right, El, you have to be born a princess. So I guess you have to come up with a better plan for the future." 

"I don't want to be a princess anymore. Alex said that they don't get to do cool things. They just sit around all day and wave and smile at people, that’s so boooring."

Auston laughs while he cranks up the vent. 

"So, what are you going to be when you're a big girl, Ari?" He has to raise his voice to be heard but it's not like Ariella isn't used to doing that, too. Dozens of dinners with Dylan and Mitch have proven that she has a lot of perseverance when it comes to being heard. 

"I'm going to be a service dog." 

"A… service dog?" 

"They went to a training center with daycare last week," Mitch explains; then lowers his voice so that Auston can barely hear him. "I'm not sure how to break it to her that it's probably more likely that she'll become a princess than a service dog."

"Wait two weeks and she’ll move on to becoming a neurosurgeon or something."

"Yeah, probably the best, hate to destroy her dreams." 

Ariella babbles on about how great these dogs are and how unfair it is that her dad doesn't get her one. It's pretty cute, especially when she starts to slur because she's so tired and exhausted from the party and the only thing that’s keeping her awake is her eagerness to update Auston about everything that has happened in their life while he was ' _far far away_ '. 

__

It's still raining when they arrive at the house about an hour later, after a detour to Jerk Paradise where Mitch picked up dinner because not even he can live off birthday cake and cupcakes alone. Auston kind of approves even though he knows that his car will probably smell of greasy meat and fries for the next two weeks. 

"You're staying?" Mitch asks him after he’s dropped Ariella and the food on the porch while Auston is struggling with the car seat; shivering when occasional droplets of rain find their way into the gap between his sweater and scarf. It's almost May but it's still so damn cold. Sometimes he thinks that it will never get warm in this damn city. 

"The upside of you having to play taxi for us is that there's no one at home tonight." 

Auston doesn't turn around. Instead, he yanks at the seatbelt that secures the seat; it always looks so easy whenever Mitch does it—but it's probably one of those things that you only really figure out when you're doing it on a daily basis. There’s a sticky and gross smudge on the backrest that could be white chocolate and strawberry sprinkles, and the fabric looks torn and bleached out. 

"Need a hand?" Mitch sounds amused. 

"When was the last time you washed this thing? It's _disgusting_ ,” he curses.

"Jeez, thank you, I’m only trying to help. Also, when you're trying to juggle one and a half full-time jobs and a kid, you count it as a win when said kid is dressed and fed and happy. Washing the car seat every week ranks pretty low on the list of priorities." 

Auston knows it's impossible but he swears he can _feel_ Mitch's gaze getting colder before he turns away and starts to unload the trunk. Thankfully the seat comes loose then, and he can jog back to the house and set it down in the small hallway where Ariella has already shed her raincoat and rubber boots. Her nose and forehead are wrinkled with fierce concentration as she’s struggling to find a spot between the too packed hangers. She is wearing a cute outfit with a jean skirt and striped tights that match her hairband, and when she looks up at him with a pleading smile he can't help but return it. 

"Need a hand?" Without waiting for her response, he shoves a couple of coats aside and clears some space before lifting her so that she can hang her jacket by herself. When he puts her down Mitch is standing in the entrance door, loaded with backpacks and the bag with party leftovers. Auston's car keys are dangling from his left index finger and he's staring at the two of them with a soft expression. But it's obvious that he's tired and just as exhausted as his daughter even though it's still early. 

"Ella-Bella, can you go upstairs and change into your PJ's please, while I get dinner ready for us?"

"Can we watch Mulan later?"

"Uhh, I think we should save that for another day. It's a pretty long movie after all. But maybe one or two episodes of the Little Ponies," he grimaces, and Auston knows that he can’t stand their high-pitched voices. "Or maybe we finish 'My neighbour Totoro'? How does this sound?" 

"Like a compro—compromise?" She pouts. "I'm not tired."

"But I am, sweetie. It's been a long day. And life is all about compromises, I’m afraid." Mitch shrugs, doing his best to appear regretful. "So please say ‘thank you’ to Auston for picking us up and wish him luck for the next games because he's going to be far far away tomorrow." 

"Again?" She turns to Auston and stares up at him with huge, serious eyes. 

"Yeah, I'm afraid so, Ari." Auston crouches down to be on her level. 

"Where you're going?" 

"To Boston, that's a beautiful city on the East Coast of the US, but they have a pretty nasty hockey team to play against." 

"Can't you play them here in Toronto?"

Above him he can hear Mitch chuckle, obviously very amused by their conversation while he takes off his boots and jacket. He just loves to see Auston being outsmarted by his daughter. 

"Ella, I'll explain it later, but now I want you in PJs and ready for bed, okay? The longer you take now, the less time you have for the movie or storytime after dinner." 

She actually looks as if she's contemplating it for a couple of seconds but then she nods and gives Auston a quick hug; her thin arms around his neck, her face warm against his cheek as she whispers in his ear. 

‘ _Good luck, Auston._ ’

He can't help laughing after she has bolted off and up the stairs, excited and probably still hyped from the birthday sugar. All that never-ending energy and happiness… it's so Mitch. There’s literally no chance that she's not his daughter even when they don't look all that alike at first sight. 

Mitch nudges his shoulder, rips him from his thoughts, waits for Auston to turn around and get up; pay attention to him again. 

"You haven't answered my question… about staying overnight?" He bites his lip; looking so hesitant—as if he's really afraid of Auston’s reply. As if he already knows the answer. It's unfair, and it's also the reason Auston has refused to look at him since he entered the house, the reason he avoided Mitch's gaze since he asked the first time. 

He would be too tempted to stay. For dinner. For movie-time with Ariella and then the Raptor's game later. For couch cuddles and lazy make-out sessions and then a whole night in Mitch's bed.

But he can't. As much as he wants to. As much as he hates the expression on Mitch's face. The puppy eyes and the sweep of his lashes while he lifts his gaze and steps closer to Auston to sneak his arms around his waist and press his face against his cheek; lips tickling over the shell of his ear, teeth grazing the soft flesh, nicking it playfully. It causes shivers to run down Auston's spine, electrifying his whole body like lightning. 

_It's unfair._

It's unfair of Mitch to pull out all the tricks that usually make Auston cave like a literal puppet on strings. 

~~Sometimes~~ he's just… _weak_ when it comes to Mitch.

"Stop that." 

"M not doing anything." 

"You're trying to persuade me even though you know that I can't."

"Is it working?"

No. _Yes_. 

"I _can't_."

"I know." But Mitch doesn't step away; he stays close and pressed against him. Solid and warm, smelling of rain and Ari's raspberry shampoo. Mouthing little kisses over Auston's jaw and throat, nose buried where Auston is ticklish and too sensitive. Tugging more on his strings, making it harder and harder with every second to pull away… Auston frowns and then pushes him away. 

"I already fucked up my schedule by not napping and now you want me to eat jerk with fries? Spend the night cuddling with you when I have to play a game tomorrow? You know I can’t. Why are you even asking?" 

It comes out way more angry than he intended. Or maybe he did. He doesn't know. But Mitch's reaction is instant: hurt flashes over his face and he steps back, averts his eyes, and starts to yank off his jacket. 

"Because I'm selfish. Because I haven't seen you in weeks and because I've told you that you don't have to pick us up if it's a hassle for you. Why did you do it if it was that much trouble?" 

"You _asked_."

"You can say no to me." 

"Well, I just did. And apparently, you can't take it."

Even before the words are all out Auston knows that he went too far. That it's not Mitch's fault that Auston is wound tight with pressure and his body is still hurting from the first round against the Blues even though they had two additional days to recover. Not his fault that Auston would rather spend the night on the worn-out turquoise carpet with Mitch's hand combing through his hair and his warm body wrapped around him than going home to heat up a prepped meal and eat it alone while watching game recaps.

But it's too late to take the words back and Mitch looks up at him with huge eyes, wide with shock from Auston's words and reaction. Then he blinks and kneels down to take off his boots while Auston stares at the back of his head, his messy hair sticking up from the beanie. Both of them are speechless, both apparently searching for something to say. 

When Mitch stands up again his expression is closed off, bland and cut from stone. 

"I'm sorry. For—asking." 

He looks smaller than usual, without his shoes and in a soft knitted sweater; actually dressed really nice and still comfortable. As if he wanted to impress all the other parents at the birthday party. For the first time, Auston realizes that he took off his ear piercing and he's pretty sure that the one in his tongue is also gone. It leaves a strange hollow feeling in his stomach. 

When Mitch closes the distance and smiles it's a crooked one, smaller than usual and it's harder than usual for Auston to return it, to not think about the dozens of questions that are running through his head now. 

' _Why are we arguing?_ '

' _What are you sorry for?_ '

' _Why are you so different today?_ '

He doesn't voice any of them; just places his hand on Mitch's cheek, rubs over the still cold, still wet skin on the bridge of his nose. 

"I'm sorry, too." 

Hopes that Mitch gets what he means. Because he's too confused to be sure what he's even sorry for and why. He's so bad at arguing, fighting. Not used to. 

"Shh…" Mitch shakes his head, places his finger against Auston's lips before he stretches and replaces it with his mouth. A kiss that has no tongue, that is just a simple touch of lips, dry and solid, not hasty, not soft. Kind of bland almost, reasonable but also kind of comforting, kind of assuring.

It's as confusing as the whole situation. A kiss so unlike any others that they have shared. A kiss that leaves a strange taste in his mouth, that sits wrong in his throat so that he crumbles the second he feels Mitch pull away. So that he tightens his grip and keeps him close, keeps him in place and twists his head sideways. So that he can open his mouth and deepen the kiss, can sneak his tongue into his mouth and lick over his teeth. Suck on the tip of Mitch’s tongue that is bare without the silver barbell he’s so used to. 

It's better like this—more real, more playful, more _them_. And maybe Mitch notices it too… that something was off between them because he whimpers a bit and then he falls against Auston's chest, lets himself be held until they are breathless and his smile is real when they finally separate and look at each other. 

"Wow… that was a proper goodbye, I guess." 

The colour has returned into his cheeks, and his skin is no longer cold when Auston finishes caressing Mitch's face. 

"I hope so. Has to last for the next two weeks." 

"Jeez, why do you have to remind me?" Mitch groans. A sound that is half fake and half-real; as if the thought really bothers him. But then he straightens his back and pats Auston's chest. "Okay… I guess you should leave now before El is back. I don't want to have to explain to her again why you can't stay. 

Auston just nods. 

Mitch is right. 

" _That_ doesn't make it easier." He swipes his fingertip over Mitch's unruly and twisted eyebrow. But then he turns around and leaves—before he can cave and stay. 

He doesn't even turn around again to check if Mitch is still standing in the doorway watching him. Not even when he's in the car does he look back. He just starts the engine and drives on, windshield wipers going fast, concrete glittering with rain, radio playing the station that Mitch had picked. 

__

Later, when he's laying in bed after his boring prepped meal of chicken and quinoa with kale, he’s still thinking about those weird moments with Mitch. About the argument that he's not even sure what it was about anymore, and how it happened. On his phone there are several messages from teammates about tomorrow's early flight and from his family wishing him luck, but there are none from Mitch, which is unusual and keeps him from falling asleep. 

Finally, he grabs his phone and types out a short message. 

A: Did u take them out 4 good? -

It's still early, so he's sure that Mitch is still awake but that doesn't change how relieved he is when there are immediately three dots showing him that Mitch is replying. 

M: _?? -_

A: _Ur piercings -_

M: _that's what's keeping u from sleeping? -_

Auston debates it for about two seconds before he hits the FaceTime button. Smiles when Mitch accepts the call within a second. He's sitting in the alcove, cushion propped up behind his back, illuminated by the screen of his laptop. The light is bluish and eerie; makes his face look unhealthy, but his lashes appear super long and his hair is sticking up wildly in every direction as if he twisted it with his hands in despair. He chuckles softly. 

"Seriously?! Shouldn't you worry more about the game tomorrow?" 

"Worried enough about that the last two hours and the last three days." Auston frowns. Because thinking about Marchand and Pastrnak is not the way he wants to fall asleep and when he says that, Mitch leans his head back and laughs out loud. 

"Would've been insulted if you dreamed about Pastrnak instead of me."

"Ugh, please don't…" He doesn't even have to fake the groan that escapes him, and Mitch looks even more delighted. 

"So… you're thinking about my tongue when you're lying in bed?" 

"Not only when I'm lying in bed." 

"That's—that's good. I approve." Mitch's eyes go visibly darker even on the small screen and Auston has to roll over so that he can press his groin against the mattress. He hopes that Mitch doesn't notice, but at the same time he hopes that he does. 

(It's been weeks since he felt his fingers on him and Auston misses them. Misses him. FaceTiming and texting and seeing him for one hour with his adorable and too smart daughter in the backseat is not enough.)

"Show me." 

"Show you what?" Mitch teases. 

"You know. _C'mon_."

"What do I get in return?"

Auston rolls his eyes. Torn between lifting his blanket and showing off for Mitch. It's not something they do often, not something they are. But it has been a strange day and he's been on edge since their little argument. Yet, he's not sure if that is what Mitch is after. 

"C'mon show me."

When Mitch flashes him his tongue, reveals the silver ball on the tip, Auston feels an urge of relief and hot electricity running through his whole body and tingling in his stomach—it makes his cock twitch as well, because he cannot see it without remembering what that tongue can do to him. 

"Didn't know you're so into that." 

Four months ago Auston would have said that it's only about the way the little ball feels while Mitch is sucking him off, the added pressure and stimulation when it slides over his slit, the new and thrilling experience. But now he knows it's not only about that—now he can even admit that. 

"It's a part of who you are. Why did you take it out?"

"Some of the parents of Ari's friends are… well. I mean she’s already the kid with the single dad and like various uncles that pick her up all the time. She doesn't need to have an irresponsible dad that looks like a punk and that the other grown-ups won't talk to."

"That's bullshit, you know that."

"Yeah, but… you know what they say. No one judges parents harder than other parents." Mitch apparently closes the laptop because suddenly his face is darker and he slides down until he's lying on his side, face close to the phone. Even on the small screen with his face barely lit anymore Auston can see that he's tired.

(He could be right there with him. He could be sleeping in Mitch's bed right now with Mitch's arms around him.) 

"I'm sorry…" He blurts out; doesn't even know where the words are coming from; just that he has to say them; they were simmering under the surface of everything he has been doing to distract himself during the evening—part of the reason his food tasted stale, and not just because he could've had jerk burgers. The reason felt like an asshole the farther he drove away from Mitch's house. 

Mitch only blinks, looks confused. 

"For—I don't know, why. But I was such an idiot before." 

"Well, I was definitely one, too. So there's nothing to apologize for. Or maybe I've got to apologize, too. Which I'm doing now." He looks serious, brings the phone farther away and sits upright again. "I'm sorry, too, Aus. It was silly." 

"It was. But I'm… I'm bad at arguing, I guess." 

"Not used to it."

"That too, yeah. Usually, I don't ever get to the point in a relationship where you can argue." It's hard to admit; even though Mitch probably knows it. They haven't talked about his past regarding this, in so much as there isn't really a past. But Mitch is anything but stupid, must have figured out the picture without the missing puzzle pieces. 

"Aus… As I've said before, you can say no to me, you don't have to do me favours if they aren't convenient for you, if they mess with your schedule or something. I’ll try harder to not be such a little shit about it next time… I promise, okay? I mean, Ella and I got by before you came along, and we would have dealt with taking an Uber or the TTC or me sucking it up and asking one of the other moms." 

Mitch sounds hesitant, but then he smiles a little; first, it looks insecure— as if he's doing it to convince himself before it becomes the wide and bright thing that always makes Auston's heart lighter. That dampens the blow of Mitch's words. Fills the hollowness they caused inside his stomach.

It's late and he should sleep but he's sure he wouldn't be able to anyway. It's late and he would rather not have this conversation on the phone, would rather have it when he could feel the warmth of Mitch's body around his, the calming caress of his lips against his neck and the soothing scent of his skin and sheets… it would have been so much easier to admit it then. To say what he has probably felt for quite a while now.

"Maybe I don't want you to get by without me anymore." 

He whispers the words; so quietly that he's not sure if Mitch can even hear them. And just when he thinks that he got away with it, that he can continue as if they weren't the truth, Mitch's fingers reach for him, brush over the camera in a feeble attempt to touch him. Auston swallows—his cheek tingles and there is nothing he wants more than actually feel it. 

"Maybe I'm the same… Maybe that's why I called you and pulled my dirty trick on you." Mitch's voice is just as small, but he doesn't stop smiling and Auston doesn't know how he's supposed to come up with a reply to this. How he's supposed to hang up and spent another two weeks like the last: with nothing but short calls and messages and voicemails. How he's supposed to focus on the next step in his career and beating the Bruins, winning the Cup, when the words they have just said feel so much more important. 

"Miss you." He offers instead. Because it's lighter, especially when he adds a crooked smile. Because it's the truth. Because he already knows what Mitch would reply. 

"That doesn't make sense. We saw each other... like two hours ago."

"Didn't say it makes sense." He probably sounds mulish, childish; just like Ari when Mitch is trying to reason with her about bedtime or tidying up the playroom. "Come to the next home game. Maybe with the guys?"

"And who's watching Ella?" Mitch still sounds amused, so playful and mild. Indulgent even. Auston knows it was stupid to ask in the first place, that it's impossible. But it doesn't change that he wants him there. That he wants Mitch to be the one who’s waiting for him in the family area after he’s showered.

"Alex?" 

"Yeah, she'd love that." A laugh. "If you ever wanna set foot in our house again, I'd recommend you don't suggest that to her. No, sorry… I'm kidding. She would do it, but I still can't. Have to fly to SF again the day after." 

Auston knows he doesn't stand a chance against Mitch's and Ari's special evening ritual before Mitch has to travel for a few days. And he knows better than asking again. He nods, makes sure that Mitch can see it. Can see that Auston understands. But he isn't sure if he succeeds. 

"Take it to the next round and I'll be there, promise." 

__

They take it to the next round. And they manage to do so in five games. It's elevating and mind-blowing; so relieving that Auston can't remember ever having felt like this before. 

The weight that got lifted from his shoulders and his heart and that almost crushed him during the last ten days is suddenly gone. The tightness in his throat and around his chest disappears and he can finally breathe again. 

He can't stop smiling for probably three days straight, and nothing can diminish it, but nothing tops the pic Dylan sends him with Ari on his lap holding a glittery sign that says ' _We're soooo proud of U_ '. They are both wearing Leaf's colours—just like Mitch is when he calls him at 4 am after Auston just got home. 

(He likes Mitch's outfit a lot better but of course, he would never tell Ari that.)

__

Mitch makes good on his promise and sits directly behind the glass for both of the next games. Again he’s decked out in Leafs' gear (although this time wearing a regular hoodie and beanie and the only thing that makes him stand out is his blinding grin whenever Auston skates by during warm-ups). 

He's alone on both nights and both nights he meets up with Auston after the game and goes home with him. 

The first night they go straight to bed and Mitch curls himself around Auston, presses his nose into his neck and talks quietly about his trip, about how happy Ari was when he got back, about how much he missed Auston's scent while he was lying in his hotel room. 

The second night they don't go straight to bed and Mitch doesn't comfort him with stories about his day. Instead, he presses him up against the door the moment they are in Auston's apartment. Instead, he goes to his knees and undoes Auston's belt and pants before he blows him right there; the sensation of his teeth and tongue around his cock, the teasing tip of his piercing, and the time Auston spent waiting for this to happen again is enough to get him off in mere seconds _—_ way faster than he would have liked. 

But it's not only the touches that get him off; it's also (mostly) Mitch's words— the praise that falls from his lips in between their kisses, their touches and whenever Mitch has caught enough breath to speak. 

_'That goal… jeez. So hot.'_

_'Wanted to do— waited for this since that moment.'_

_'Love it when you look so focused… and your fucking hands.'_

It's messy and fast and over way too soon when Mitch gathers his hands and puts them into his hair before he takes Auston's cock deep and very wet. It's good— almost perfect, almost better than scoring when Mitch looks up at him, eyes so blue and lashes sticky with tears, cheeks flushed and lips red, encouraging him to just use him and fuck his face. It's _heaven._ Even better than scoring when he finally comes and watches Mitch's eyes widen and then get unbelievably dark before he swallows, swallows almost everything, with only a few drops spilling over his lips that he licks up dutifully as if he doesn't want to waste one single drop. 

His heart is still beating too fast, too hard as he sinks down onto his knees and gathers Mitch into his arms; kisses him so deep that he can taste himself, that he can pull all of Mitch's weight in his lap and hold him until their breath evens out while Mitch rubs his face over his jaw and the side of his throat—his left hand cradling Auston's face, thumb brushing over his beard. 

"It's so soft." He sounds a bit surprised and a bit in awe and Auston tries (and fails) to not feel smug. 

"You like it." 

Mitch hums. 

"But El will hate it. She makes Con shave whenever he grows that stupid excuse of a beard during his finals. Refuses to give him goodnight kisses." Chuckles, obviously amused that his daughter has wrapped all of his friends around her finger. Then he carefully unfolds his legs and gets up; Auston immediately feels cooler and heavier even though he should feel lighter without Mitch's weight on his lap. 

"You're just jealous because you couldn't even grow one if you waited a hundred years." 

"Weak. If that's your comeback you're clearly tired. C'mon, let's get you out of this suit and into bed. " 

He starts to pull Auston off the ground and drag him to the bedroom, groaning and huffing theatrically when Auston refuses to do so at first. But when they get there he just sits on the mattress and watches while Auston undresses and throws his suit over the chair for the cleaning lady. His gaze feels heavy, almost physical, as if he's standing behind him and sliding his hands all over Auston's body. It's as distracting as it is arousing even though he doesn't want to let it be. 

He's still sitting there, bottom lip between his teeth when Auston is done and steps over to him, clad only in sweats, handing Mitch his soft and well-worn shirt because he would snatch it anyway. 

"Thought you were in a hurry to get me into bed? Everything okay?" 

"Yeah, it's just…" Mitch looks up at him, reaches for his hand, but doesn't take the shirt. Instead, he stands so that they are almost nose to nose. "You're so thin." 

Auston shrugs. It's the playoffs. Sometimes he feels like he can't eat enough, like everything he does is eating, sleeping, and playing. But then again, that _is_ mostly what he’s doing these days. 

"I'm fine." 

"It's just so strange to see it." Mitch lets his fingers wander up along Auston's arms towards his shoulder and then to his face. "Don't like it."

"You sound like my mama." But it's nice to see the concern in Mitch’s eyes, the frown on his forehead; feel the gentleness when he finally grabs the shirt and guides Auston to the adjoined master bathroom, still in his street clothes. "Trust me, she's already cooking a storm and stocking up the freezer to feed me up after." 

They brush their teeth next to each other, Mitch's hand around his waist or on his lower arm; it's distracting and not really effective, but Auston doesn't complain, has gone too long without Mitch's touch so that he's soaking it up like sunshine, hopes he can store it like a battery so that it'll last him through the next games—at least the next two when Mitch won’t be sitting behind the glass, wearing royal blue or his number. When Mitch won’t be there afterward to pull him into his arms and press kisses to his naked shoulder, a perfect human radiator, better than every blanket, smelling of raspberries, toothpaste and Auston's cologne. 

"Why didn't you tell me that you played hockey?" He asks softly, because it's been on his mind for a long time. Because he waited for it to come up, for Mitch to mention it. Yet he never did and Auston couldn't forget.

It takes so long for Mitch to answer that he would have thought he has fallen asleep if it weren't for the way Mitch arms tighten around him, how he stops breathing for too many seconds—as if he has been caught and is now thinking of a way to deflect the question. 

"Because it's not important." 

"Then why did you keep it from me?" 

Mitch tenses around him.

"I didn't. It just… it just never came up. And how do you know anyway?" 

"It's on your wiki page."

"So if it's out there on the internet I didn't exactly keep it from you."

Auston rolls his eyes even though it's useless: Mitch can't see it. Instead, he turns around and reaches for him, suddenly anxious that Mitch would use this opportunity to distance himself, that he ruined the mood with his question. But Mitch doesn't move, doesn't blink. Finally, he lets out the breath he has been holding and slumps against Auston's chest. 

"There's no tragic story or anything if that's what you're thinking. I just… it was so long ago. And it's really not important to me anymore." His words are muffled from the way he's hiding his face. 

"Why did you stop?" 

"It's not important." 

The more he says it, the less Auston starts to believe it. But instead of saying this, he brings his hand under Mitch's chin to make him look up at him. And maybe Mitch realized his slip, realized that his behaviour and the strain in his voice doesn't match up with his words. 

"I just… I started to love skating more? I mean I loved— _love_ hockey, but skateboarding? It's so different but also not. It's hard to explain. But I had so much fun doing it and it felt so natural to me. Hockey? Hockey has never been so easy for me. I mean, I loved speeding down the ice, almost flying—I was always pretty fast, with or without the puck." He laughs a little, embarrassed, and almost a bit proud. 

"Naz told me you were really good." 

"Nazem Kadri?! You talk to Nazem Kadri about me?"

"Willy does." 

"That guy is awfully interested in me." Now the laugh is open and delighted. 

"He lives to torture me. But yeah, he got curious and asked Naz, told him a story about how we met you at the fundraiser and that we looked you up. He didn't know much though, just remembered a tiny kid that was awfully fast and talented." 

Mitch swallows; Auston can only feel it because his hand is still around Mitch's face. 

"I was tiny, yeah… always the smallest kid on every team I played for. But it didn't matter anymore when I stood on the board. Maybe that's one of the reasons I fell in love with it." 

"When did you stop playing?"

"Mac signed me up for some competitions when I was fourteen, told me I have the potential to win a couple of prizes. And one weekend he drove me to Montreal and I won all of them. It was crazy, and… and I loved every second of the tournament, every second I stood on the board, while hockey was—just so hard. So I decided to focus on skateboarding. Easiest decision I ever made and the best." 

Auston knows he's not only talking about his career, because even though Mitch is among the best skateboarders in the world, and probably one of the most famous ones—it's nothing against what he could have been if he had chosen hockey. 

But he wouldn't have Ariella. 

"You're still playing?"

"If you're looking for a chance to see what I can do on the ice I'll have to disappoint you because I'm pretty sure I forgot everything in the last eight years." 

"And I'm pretty sure you didn't forget everything." If Mitch has played until he was fourteen there is no way there isn't anything of his skill left, and the idea of seeing Mitch move in skates, using all that feet-hand-coordination and his crazy flexibility against him on the ice is thrilling. Makes him smile while he inches closer to whisper in Mitch's ear. 

"Wanna bet on it?"

"You know that I could just play super bad to win this one," Mitch whispers back, slides his arms around Auston's back; he's warm and his fingers tickle as they wander up and down Auston's spine. 

"Nah, you wouldn't, you're too competitive." 

"That's sadly true." 

"So, it's a date?"

"I thought it was a bet?" 

Mitch's grin is so infectious, so pure and delighted that Auston can see it even in the darkness of his bedroom, only lit with the skyline's orange and white lights; it's just a dimmed and immaculate vision of the real thing, but it's enough for now. It's enough for Auston to know what it looks like in daylight. But not enough to quell the longing inside his chest to see it again—in bright daylight, not in haste, not when they are on borrowed time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all have a great time, take care and see you in three weeks ♥


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from vacation and to reality... not gonna lie, I was hoping I would write a different foreword here. But it is what it is and the Leafs got eliminated again-oops I meant they didn't even make the playoffs >.< So, remember when I said in the beginning that this is an alternate universe?  
> That's one of the reasons. I hope you like the outcome of the playoffs in this story better and that you like this chapter.  
> I loved reading your comments during vacation, they always got me smiling when I was lying in bed at night and finally had time to check the mails, so thank you all and sorry for replying so late. ♥

M: _only 4 wins 2 go!!_ \- 

Mitch’s text makes him smile. Not that he isn’t already smiling. It’s almost the opposite; he’s more afraid that he’ll never be able to stop. At least not until the next game. 

The first game in the final round. Of the Stanley cup. 

They are so close, he can almost feel the weight of it in his hands. Can almost taste the victory on his tongue. 

It’s a dangerous thing, to think like that. Because there is so much that can go wrong. _Too much_. 

But after the last three years of consecutively and spectacularly going down in the first round… it’s so tempting. So good to imagine it. 

"A penny for your thoughts." 

Patty slides onto the bench next to him. He’s still in his jersey, still sweaty and disgusting. But Auston doesn’t mind, leans against his shoulder, and taps his knee against Patty's. 

He shrugs. Because it’s too hard to put everything he’s feeling into words. Instead, he takes a sip from his Gatorade. 

"Yeah... it’s overwhelming." 

"Seven games, four wins. We’re so close.”

“And so far away.”

Patty nods. 

“Unreal.”

__

 _Unreal_. 

He repeats it later when they’re on the bus to the airport and he's on the phone with Mitch. Sitting in the last row with his back against the window, feet stretched out and playing a platonic kind of footsie with Willy who is typing wildly on his phone; still grinning dopily whenever their eyes meet. 

Everybody is busy with their phones, calling parents and girlfriends so no one is paying attention to him, but he still tries to keep his voice down, dims the screen and the audio. 

"Wait until you're in Toronto. I just got home from Boarding House and the streets are packed with people… all decked out in blue and white. It's beautiful. And crazy." Mitch's smile is so broad that Auston is almost afraid he could hurt himself. "Dylan says hi, by the way. He's glad that he doesn't have to refuse you entry the next time you show up here." 

"This house doesn't welcome losers!" 

Auston can hear him holler in the background and then he's suddenly behind Mitch; arms around his neck, face pressed close against Mitch's. They’re both wearing jerseys and they both look drunk (Dylan more than Mitch). 

"Lucky me for scoring that OT goal then, I guess." He chuckles. 

Dylan's arms are bare and tan against Mitch's pale throat and they both look very comfortable leaning against each other. But not even the unasked and unanswered question that their closeness sometimes evokes inside him is enough to dim the overflowing relief and excitement.

"Yeah, would have sucked not having you around, eating all our groceries anymore. We've gotten so used to you." 

"Didn't you want to get another beer?" Mitch elbows him away. 

"Got it, got it, you wanna have time to be all cute and lovey-dovey with each other." A dramatic eye roll. "Ugh, Brinksy, please tell me we've never been so gross."

"Gross is your second name, and now shoo!" But he smacks a loud kiss on Dylan's cheek before he turns all his attention back to Auston. From somewhere else, he can hear sounds of fake gagging and puking. 

"Idiot. I'm living with idiots." 

"You are." 

"Unfortunately I love them."

"That's because you're an idiot, too." 

"I guess… oh damn, Aus, I wish I could've seen the game, I mean alone or at least here and not surrounded by a bunch of teenagers. It was so hard to not brag about you the way I wanted."

"Yeah? Did that goal get you hot?" 

"So hot, you have no idea." 

"Actually, I do." As if he could forget about the last time Mitch was over—the last time he saw him. Ages ago. His skin tingles from the memory and he has to think about something else because he would rather not have to walk through security with a boner. Willy shoves his leg, shakes his head in amused disbelief. 

(It's like he has a sixth sense when it comes to stuff like that. Which… he probably does. Or maybe it's just that Auston is unable to control his face.) 

"Wanna come over when you're landed? I can show you in person."

"Mitch…" He claws his left hand into his thigh, tight enough to actually hurt. "I can't. My parents are coming tomorrow. I think their plane gets in super early." 

"Damn." 

"Yeah, damn." Auston follows Mitch's tongue that is sliding over his bottom lip; it's distracting as hell. "I wish I could. I—miss you."

"Well I guess then you have to sweep the Oilers because I can't go another two weeks without seeing you."

"I'll try… trust me, we'll try." 

They end the call quickly when they pull into the airport, before Auston can do something dumb like blow Mitch a kiss ~~or say that he loves him~~. 

Willy nevertheless rolls his eyes at him. 

“Dude, you should see your face, it’s disgusting.”

“Shut up, we just made it to the Stanley Cup final.”

“As if your face has anything to do with that. You always look like this when you’re talking to him.” 

Auston reaches over and shoves him against the shoulder before he tousles his annoyingly perfect mop of blond hair.

“Ugh, don’t get your feelings all over me. It could be infectious.”

“You love me.”

“I love to make fun of you, but keep telling yourself that.” 

They both jerk in surprise when Kappy interrupts them by jumping into them from behind; his bag bumping into the back of Auston’s knees and his elbow knocking the breath out of Willy’s lungs before he pulls them both in against him. 

Together they walk to the illuminated entrance of the Ronald Reagan Airport, trying and failing twice to squeeze into one segment of the revolving door. Clearly Mitch is not the only one who has idiots for his best friends. It’s a small miracle that no one gets squeezed in or loses a limb and has to face Keefe's inevitable wrath. 

__

His parents stay in Toronto until game seven and there is no chance to see Mitch without them asking questions. 

Or asking more than they already do. 

Whenever he checks his phone his dad teases him about seeing a girl and his mama gives him that warm and proud smile. He’s glad that she apparently didn’t tell his father, but he knows that she’s waiting for him to finally do it. Which isn’t exactly something he wants to deal with while he’s trying to focus on hockey. And he also knows that she’s dying to corner him and hear more about Mitch. 

She finds him alone in the middle of the night while he is leaning against the floor-to-celling windows and looking over the dark bay of Lake Ontario, listening to Mitch’s quiet voice. 

And of course, she asks him about Mitch and Ariella after he’s ended the call, insists that she wants to meet him, that Auston should invite them for dinner. 

She doesn’t ask if he’s happy, but she doesn’t have to. Auston knows she can read it on his face. Because it’s right there, written all over his features and undeniable—especially after he has just talked to Mitch. 

It’s one of the reasons he refuses to invite Mitch and Ella over. Because it’s always right there on his face. Out in the open for everyone to see. Whenever he talks to Mitch, about Mitch, and it’s even worse when he’s with him. 

(Dylan told him that. Willy told him that. Alex told him that one morning when he arrived after an away game in Philly and she opened the door for him. When he couldn’t get his shoes off fast enough to crawl into a warm bed with a sleeping Mitch waiting for him.) 

How much worse would it be with his parents who know him so much better?

He can’t risk it. Not now. Not during the playoffs. Can’t risk the added pressure, or the concern and comments of his father.

Oh, but he wants to see Mitch. He wants it so much that he feels it like a hole in his chest. That he sometimes lies awake at night, and his bed is suddenly too big and too cold. That he falls asleep missing something he has never missed before and wakes up missing it even more. 

Never before has he felt like this about anyone that wasn’t family, and never before has this concept not scared him. The absence of a person being scarier than their presence. 

But that’s how he feels. He doesn’t know why because it’s not like he and Mitch spend that much time together normally. But whenever they do, it’s like everything inside Auston comes to rest, like Mitch fills a void in him that he didn't even know it exists. 

He hasn’t seen Mitch for two weeks and short phone calls late at night before they both fall asleep won’t suffice anymore. They’re nothing but a shallow glimpse of a life he wishes for but can’t have: snaps of Ari and Mitch baking cookies for her birthday, both covered in flour and chocolate (Auston can almost hear Dylan freaking out at the state of his precious kitchen). Or of them in the skate park, trying out the adult skateboard Mitch gifted her. Or of Mitch alone, at night, in bed, wearing Auston’s hoodie and pouting; the ' _fucking miss you_ ' in the text below that almost makes him type something very stupid back. 

~~It's a close thing and it pounds in his head like a rush of blood~~. 

They fly out to Edmonton for the first two games which are both complete shit shows, and they can’t get out of town and away from their shameful and daunting losses fast enough—as if the images of Draisaitl and Neal scoring four times against them won’t haunt them in Toronto. At least they have the home-ice advantage now, but the euphoria of the week before is gone and everybody is wearing a grim look, smiling through their teeth. They all can feel the pressure like hands around their necks, the hopes of an entire city dragging them down when they leave the bus and trudge to their cars. 

His parents, at least his mother, will still be awake, waiting for him with a steaming mug of cocoa and cream; a source of comfort and ritual ever since he's been a kid. But when he sits in his car he suddenly can't imagine going home, facing her—the sadness in her eyes and the softness of her words, as if he's breakable. 

So he drives to Mitch's place, sends her a quick apology. 

It's silly and it's crazy because Mitch will be asleep. 

The text he sends him is still unanswered by the time he gets there and finds a parking spot, but there is light in the kitchen, so he doesn't hesitate and knocks softly. Smiles apologetically when a very exhausted looking Dylan opens the door, eyes going wide in surprise. 

"Sorry, I know—I mean I know that it's super late… can I come in?" 

"Course, but… Shit, Mitch isn't here." Dylan rubs his neck, looks super uncomfortable. 

“I—where is he?" Auston is pissed; doesn't know why or at whom, himself or Mitch. He should have checked before coming. But it's in the middle of the night and Mitch… he could have told him if he was travelling. (Or did he forget?) 

"Hm, the thing is… I don't know. No one knows. I got home late and he hasn't been here since." 

It doesn't take Auston much to read Dylan's expression now, the way he's even more fidgety than usual or how he bites his lips. He's worried. 

"He's—what about Ari?"

"With him, I guess? But listen, it's Mitch. He gets by. I'm sure it's nothing and everything's fine."

"Do you think it's something with Ari?"

Dylan shakes his head, but then stops himself, nods. 

"It's the only explanation I've got. Texted him a couple of times and didn't get an answer." 

Suddenly all the thoughts about playoff losses and tiredness disappear from Auston's mind and the sickness he's feeling has nothing to do with shame and anxiousness about his play or missing Mitch. His fingers are shaking and filled with lead when he unzips his coat. He is cold and has to tell himself to breathe. 

"Can I wait here?"

"Sure! If—if you want you can go upstairs and sleep there?" Dylan bites his lips again than sniggers. It sounds strained like he realized that sleep is the last thing on Auston's mind; like he's keeping the concern at bay. "Or I can heat you up some leftovers and you can sit with me and watch me studying? I won't talk or ask questions." 

"Don’t worry, I'm good." 

He doesn't think he can stomach anything right now without throwing up. So he just walks over to the couch and takes out his phone while Dylan goes back to his studying. But from the look of it, he doesn't get much done, because whenever Auston checks on him he's wearing a blank and faraway expression or staring at his phone as well. 

Auston doesn't know when he falls asleep, didn't plan on it at all, but he wakes with a jolt when Dylan carefully touches his shoulder and puts down a steaming mug of tea onto the coffee table. 

"Shh, it's okay. They’re okay. Got a text a couple of minutes ago. They are at SickKids. Ari got stung by an insect and had an anaphylactic reaction or something. But she's out of danger now. Mitch didn't get around to check his phone earlier." 

"Thank fuck." It comes out almost in a sob: the relief he feels makes him almost dizzy. 

"He'll call you in the morning. You should go upstairs and get some real sleep." 

"You too. Don't look so fresh either." 

Dylan looks even worse than before, hair all messed up from his hands and dark rings under his eyes. At least he's smiling again. 

"Yeah, but I don't have to beat the shit out of Edmonton in 36 hours." 

"Thought you didn't want to say anything." 

"And you actually believed that? Oh man, you got a lot to learn." 

Auston blames it on him being too tired and too relieved to either flip him off or come back with anything remotely quick-witted. Together they stumble up the stairs, both of them probably moving like zombies. When they part at the landing, Dylan nudges him. 

"See you in a few… and thanks." 

__

Mitch calls him the next morning while he's at breakfast with his parents. Normally he wouldn't take the call—too afraid that his face could betray him. 

But this time he just apologizes and gets up quickly. 

There was no chance to tell his mama when he got back with just enough time to change and pack his stuff for practice. His dad didn't say anything about him sleeping over somewhere else, yet there was a worried crease on his forehead and the only thing that probably kept him from expressing his concern was his mama who stepped over to him and brushed it away with her tiny magical hands. 

Mitch sounds exhausted, his voice is raspy and only slightly above whispering, but he also sounds relieved while he fills him in about Ari's condition. 

"So now we're waiting for the doctor to tell us that we can go home." 

"Do you need anything…? I mean—is there anything I can do?" 

"Well, can you turn back the time so that I don't—that I don't have to see my little girl having a seizure... because, because that would be great. God, Aus… that was the most frightening thing. And I saw Penny almost die of an overdose. But Ella's… she's… everything I have." 

Auston hears him inhale shakily, knows that Mitch is barely holding it together. And there is nothing he can do. Nothing. He clenches his hand, digs his fingers into the blanket of his bed. 

"I'm sorry. So sorry that you had to go through that. Can I—I could pick you up." 

He _can't_. He has practice and tape review after. Only that he doesn't care, doesn't even care if they would scratch him for the next game... 

But Mitch only laughs, dry and so sarcastic that Auston swears his heart cramps and he has to press a hand over his chest. 

"Don't be ridiculous, Auston, you have practice and probably countless other stuff on your plate. Brinks will get us later."

"If you think that—"

"I don't think _that_. But it's the truth—it’s your job and we're good here." 

(We don't need you.) 

"Mitch…"

"I'm sorry… Aus, that was—I shouldn't have said that. I know you wanna help. That you care. But we're really good and, and I mean, what would you have told them anyway?" 

Mitch's words taste bitter on his tongue. 

Maybe because the truth always tastes bitter. 

__

They _really_ beat the shit out of the Oilers and tie the series before they have to fly back to Alberta. Auston doesn't know if it was spite or anger that fueled him, but whatever it was it worked and he had seven points in two games, felt on fire like all of the guys. 

It was spite because everyone already talked as if they were dead, was so keen on writing another chapter of the never-ending story about how the Leafs always manage to disappoint when it really counts. 

Anger because he's giving everything for a sport that forces him to live a lie. 

__ 

In the end, they need all seven games, one penalty shot that will probably get Freddie the Vezina and one overtime with a glorious goal from JT until they can finally put their hands on the cup. 

The whole arena erupts in white and blue. 

And everything gets blurry and a mess of thoughts runs through his mind. Too many emotions explode inside him. Too many to grasp a single one. Too many to remember them all. 

The countless hugs and smiles and screams of relief, pride and elation. 

They did it. They are invincible. 

No one can take it from them now. 

Years of expectations, of shattered hopes and dreams, of promises and disappointments. 

It's _unreal_. 

__

He says it again, hoarse, under-armour soaked with sweat and hair dripping with champagne; when he finds Patty in a quiet corner hours later after Christina left to take the kids home. 

Says it again; while he sits in the car with Freddie, their shiny trophy between them. 

Says it again; while he's doing shots with Willy and Kap, all three of them plastered, arms around each other, voices almost gone completely. 

_Unreal_. 

__

Auston doesn't know how late - or early - it is when he gets home. The sky is fading from navy to turquoise and green over the lake and the air smells of sunrise and summer, of endless freedom: fresh and clean, sweet and light—like homemade lemonade and a walk on the beach. 

So good that he actually asks the cab driver to drop him off a couple of blocks from his building just so that he can soak it up; drink in the sunrise, the opportunities that always come with a new day and the feeling of walking the empty streets for the first time in weeks without anything to worry about. 

The sidewalks are littered with cups and cans and trash from the thousands of people who crowded the streets a couple of hours before, celebrating them and the sidewalk shimmers wetly where the cleaners have already passed. Chirping of birds mingles with car noises of early commuters that pass him by without recognizing him. The awakening of a city—of his city, and he's never felt more at home than in these moments. 

Until he reaches the entrance of his building and his eyes find Mitch leaning against the wall next to the sliding doors, idly rolling his skateboard forward and backward with his right foot. He's wearing the hoodie Auston gave him for his birthday and looks very awake and very energetic despite the laziness of his movements. 

Auston speeds up his steps automatically when Mitch notices him, when Mitch's face brightens almost impossibly. 

It costs a lot of Auston's willpower to keep his distance and not pull him against his body when Mitch pushes himself off the wall and greets him. He's not super drunk anymore, but still drunk enough that it's hard to remember the reasons why he can't do that—can't give in to his instincts and bury his face in Mitch's neck and suck bruises to his soft skin. 

Everything he has felt in the last weeks, that he suppressed because of hockey; the longing, the want, the need. It's suddenly back with full force and beating in his blood, screaming at him to just forget all those stupid reasons and do what he wants. 

But Mitch doesn't close the distance, doesn't even offer a typical bro hug, he just laughs happily and looks up at him; eyes bright and the only thing Auston can see at this moment. 

God, he missed him. Misses him even now that he's right there. 

"Hey, you're—" he stops himself because obviously Mitch is here and obviously Auston is stupid from all the emotions and ideas this causes inside him. 

"Yeah, thought I'd surprise you. Hope you don't mind?" 

Auston shakes his head. Only minds that he can't get his hands on him right away. 

"My parents are still in my apartment." He says because he's still stupid and that's the only thing he can think of. But Mitch's smile doesn't falter, gets even wider.

"You said that you can't make it tonight, I would have gotten them a hotel room." 

"That's why _I_ booked a room for us at the Royal York. C'mon. I've already checked in, so no one will notice you when I sneak you in." 

It's a short walk only under normal circumstances, but now with Mitch at his side, their hands brushing each other occasionally… it feels endless, a hundred miles or longer until they finally reach the huge and majestic building on Front Street and slip into the entrance hall. The doorman greets them politely but doesn't show any sign of recognizing him, only opens the door for them and then they’re finally inside, walking over the carpet covered floors towards the elevator. 

The ride to the 15th floor is just as endless as the walk and by the time they reach the door to their room Auston is giddy with the need to get his hands on Mitch. Breathing heavily as if they took the stairs instead, just from controlling his impulse to not pull Mitch in and kiss him in the middle of the hallway. 

The room is actually a suite, and there’s a bottle of champagne in a cooler on the table, but Auston couldn’t care less about either, just turns around and presses Mitch against the wall next to the door the second he’s in the room. 

Technically, it’s not a great kiss. Not even a good one, because Auston is too greedy and Mitch smiles too much. It’s uncoordinated and hasty, lips and tongues and teeth colliding, noses bumping, foreheads knocking. 

But it’s the fucking best kiss Auston has ever had. 

Because their clumsiness makes Mitch laugh even harder, giggling even, and the sound is adorable, almost as good as the taste of him that Auston wants to lick out of his mouth until he can’t breathe anymore. His hands slip underneath the soft fabric of the hoodie and the shirt that Mitch is wearing until they find skin, precious and warm and he actually moans at the feeling, touches every inch that he can reach with urgency, wanting to get reacquainted with it as fast as possible. 

There is no time for finesse, for carefulness or thoroughness—not now. There will be later, because no matter what plans Mitch has, or his parents or teammates, he’s not leaving this room until he’s had his fill. 

“Greedy much?” Mitch smirks when Auston says this aloud. But he looks like he doesn’t mind. Looks so good with his tousled hair and red kissed lips, the rumbled shirt, and flushed cheeks. 

Auston is greedy and is it so much that he doesn’t even bother downplaying it. Missing Mitch got easier after some time, faded into a low dull throb in the back of his head, a tingling in his teeth and a hollowness in his stomach that he could fill with hockey and the will of giving everything and getting everything back. But the second he saw Mitch standing in front of his building it returned with a ferocity that makes it impossible to ignore. 

“Can you even get it up?” Mitch brushes over Auston’s dick with the back of his hand; tender almost, but definitely teasing. “How drunk are you?”

Instead of answering, Auston grinds his hips into Mitch's touch, leans in to bring his mouth to the sweet spot underneath Mitch's jawbone that always makes him shiver when he kisses it. He may still be drunk enough that he can feel his head spin, but he can't even imagine a situation where he couldn't get it up for Mitch. His body's reaction when Mitch goes onto his tiptoes presses himself closer is instant and undermines it further. Auston tilts his head sideways so that he can get better access and nips Mitch's earlobe with his teeth—maybe a bit too much, maybe a bit painful, but Mitch completely goes slack in his arms, moans loud and deeply. 

Just hearing it makes Auston's cock twitch, causes his blood to go hot. Kissing Mitch in this spot isn't exactly fair, because Auston knows how much he loves it and how strongly he reacts to it. But this isn't about playing fair, this is about getting as much of each other as fast as possible. 

For the first time, he's actually glad for Mitch's ridiculously wide and low riding pants that he sometimes wears when he's skateboarding, because he only has to open the top button and then they are already falling down, pooling around his ankles, along with his boxers. Time-saving and efficient; he even says so to get a laugh first and then a slap on his upper arm that stings a little but mostly turns him on. 

(In the last six months Auston has stopped counting the number of ways Mitch is able to turn him on.)

"Can't say the same about yours, dude. Getting you out of these needs scissors or a can opener. Why is your ass so big?!"

"Please… you love my ass." 

Mitch steps back and looks at Auston; there is no need for him to raise his eyes like this with sweeping and fluttering lashes—the two or three inches of height difference hardly qualify for an action like this. But fuck, Auston certainly doesn't mind, not when Mitch holds his gaze before he licks his lips: slow and with the only purpose of turning him on more. 

"Oh yeah, I do." He breathes; sounding too honest, too awed and overwhelmed for Auston to reply anything. 

And then he drops to his knees and peels Auston's jeans down together with his briefs. He's still wearing the hoodie and Auston would have preferred him naked, would have preferred them both naked, or on the bed. 

But when Mitch leans in and inhales, when he brushes his cheek over Auston's hipbones and stomach and pelvis—like a cat; making soft sounds that could pass as the human equivalent of purring. When he finally puts his mouth on him, without any fanciness—just swallowing him down and never breaking eye contact. 

He doesn't mind, doesn't care. 

__

It's almost noon when Auston wakes up, which is pretty early considering when they fell asleep, but he feels surprisingly well-rested and energetic. 

The room isn't completely dark, even though Mitch closed the curtains, but it's completely quiet and for a moment he thinks that Mitch is gone, that he left without telling him, that he maybe wasn't even here and everything was a dream. 

But this is definitely not his bedroom and when he sits up, tangled in duvets and sheets, feeling hot and stuffy, he finds Mitch leaning against the doorframe to the living room, watching him. He's wearing a fluffy terrycloth robe and looks absolutely adorable in the half-light that's streaming in through the gaps in the curtains. 

When their eyes meet, he smiles, brings his index finger to his lips so that Auston doesn't interrupt the silence with words. Then he turns around and disappears in the other room, only to return carrying a tray with breakfast that he puts onto the bench at the foot of the bed. It looks delicious and perfect and even though Auston can feel his stomach rumble and protest with hunger… it's the less appealing thing on his mind right now. 

He pulls Mitch in the second he's close enough to do so and kisses him—morning breath be damned. But Mitch doesn't protest, at least not right away and allows it for a few moments before he pushes Auston away, and frowns at him. Auston can't really blame him because, unlike him, Mitch tastes of toothpaste and smells divine. 

"Sorry, babe, you gotta shower first, you reek more than I can keep ignoring." 

"What happened to me smelling so good that you didn't even want to shower?" 

"Reality. Romance is over." Mitch shoots back drily. 

"Says the one who booked us a fucking suite in a fancy hotel and plans to have breakfast in bed. Who waited half the night in front of my building because he missed me so much.” 

Auston leans back, folds his hands behind his head; he has every right to be smug and they both know it.

"I missed your dick, you just happen to be attached to it. And now shower, I'm hungry, you slept fucking forever." 

__

Eating breakfast in bed and sipping the champagne Mitch sneaked in is nice. Having Mitch in his lap while doing all that is even nicer. It takes a bit of creativity to actually eat, but they make it work—Mitch is feeding him bites of toast and eggs and fruits, while Auston leans against the headboard and watches him, listens to him. They are both in bathrobes and smell of hotel soap, but whenever Auston turns his head and buries his nose in Mitch's hair he breathes in the familiar scent, lingering as if it's etched into Mitch's skin like his tattoos. 

It reminds him of sleeping in Mitch's room, and that's a good memory. 

"You know… if you told me, I could've come over to your place last night." 

Mitch lifts his eyebrows before he takes a sip of champagne from the coffee mug. 

"You really think that would've worked? I mean, considering how you attacked me the second we got here?" 

Yeah, he probably has a point.

"I like your place." 

"And that's great, really, but right now… I prefer this. But if you don't wanna be alone with me we can totally go back to the house. No one is forcing you to hang out with me in this nice room, drinking champagne and making out with—" 

Auston shoves Mitch from his lap to stop him from finishing his sentence. Luckily Mitch's reflexes are better than his at the moment because he grabs Auston's arm and stops himself from falling and spilling the champagne over them and the sheets. He giggles when he climbs back into his previous position; cheeks flushed from alcohol already. 

"Told you yesterday that I'm not planning to leave this room until I absolutely have to." 

"Which is tomorrow morning, I'm afraid, because I only booked this room till then. Also, you have to go to the parade and I have to release Alex and Con from my daughter."

"Nah, I'm sure they'll be fine. You should come to the parade, JT texted me earlier: they apparently booked the Drake for the after-party." 

"Sounds lovely, but if I go to the parade without El I’m definitely her least favourite person in the house. I’m already pretty low on that list." Although Mitch laughs Auston can see that he's not as casual as he wants to be. 

"Did something happen? She's fine, isn't she?" 

"Oh, she's totally fine. She just had a little… _fit_ yesterday because I'm spending the day with you and she didn't get to come." 

"She's jealous of me?" Auston asks while he loosens his grip around Mitch's hip so that he can get up and carry the empty tray over to the living room. The idea sits wrong in his stomach, like a weird itch, unpleasant. So he quickly downs the rest of his champagne, tries to not think about it. 

"Dude, no. She adores you." 

For a moment Auston can't tell from Mitch's tone if he's joking, but when he appears again, carrying the open bottle and refilling their mugs he looks serious; and also soft—as if he's happy about this fact. 

"She's angry because I get to have ' _Auston-time_ '," he imitates her tiny, high-pitch voice, hands on his hips. "' _Because I'm always getting Auston-time_ '. If I don't take her to the parade she's probably going to sleep in Dylan's bed when she has nightmares or something." 

He _is_ joking now. Looks too amused and fond to be really worried, so Auston doesn't bother hiding his delight; the strange and sudden pride and happiness. He throws his head back and laughs. Then laughs more at the display of indignation on Mitch's face. It's fake, but it's still priceless. 

"Ari has great taste." 

"Ohh, you like that? My kid liking you better than me?"

"What can I say, everyone likes me."

"And right now, that's probably even true." 

"Good thing you have me here, then." Auston teases before he leans forward to snatch the end of the ribbon around Mitch's waist; it's the only thing he can grab on because Mitch is still too far away, barely close enough to touch. But he doesn't exactly mind when he slowly pulls until it comes off, making the robe fall open, and revealing Mitch's bare stomach.

Bathrobes are great—he's starting to become a huge fan. 

"Yeah, lucky me…" 

Especially when Mitch just shrugs it off and climbs onto the bed and Auston's lap. 

Lying in bed the whole day is something Auston never usually does. But doing it with Mitch is actually nice. Doing it with Mitch while they’re both mostly naked is even nicer. 

They order snacks in the afternoon, along with more champagne and later on dinner that gets cold while they make out in the huge rain shower. It's already night when they finally eat, sitting opposite to each other on the bed having an improvised picnic while Mitch fills him in about his training for the upcoming Olympics and how excited he is about going to Tokyo. 

Auston is less excited, but he doesn't say it, feels foolish and small-minded, especially when Mitch is still so happy for him and so proud—sometimes he just looks at him and smiles, shaking his head as if he can't believe it. Sometimes even says it, awed and stunned, more a whisper than anything. 

It's not because Auston isn't happy and proud of him—because he is. More than he can express with his poor ability to use words. It's only because he's selfish and the last weeks made him so aware of the fact that he doesn't like being without Mitch for such a long time. He feels shitty but he can't help it… can only make sure that Mitch doesn't notice. 

So he's glad when Mitch finally talks about Ari and the guys, when they lay down, curled around each under the covers; very naked and very lazy, but not in the least tired. Mitch's hands are around Auston's face, his fingers brushing over brows and eyelids, over cheeks and jaw and lips. Auston's arms are around him, low on the bony hip, holding him close, thumb sliding over Mitch's leaf tattoo that he knows is right there. 

For a moment he wants to ask, but then swallows the question; Mitch's past doesn't matter—not right now. When there is so much future for them. When Mitch leans in and kisses him, mouth cool and sparkly from the champagne. The high windows are open, curtains dancing softly in the wind and the noises of the city in the background, the orange glow of the streetlamps and the windows of the skyscrapers around them the only source of light. 

It makes it less forbidden, less secretive what they are doing. Even though Auston muted his phone hours ago, turned it over so that he doesn't see the screen light up with countless messages. He told everyone who needed to know that he's fine and then rolled his eyes at the immediate flood of texts from his mama and Willy, who are both too curious and too invested in his love life. 

“Come with me to Scottsdale.”

“Yeah, sure. I mean it's not like I have anything going on here at the moment.”

Mitch laughs but doesn’t stop his caresses. His eyelids are heavy and he looks as if he’s about to doze off soon. 

“I mean it. Bring Ari, bring the guys… I don’t care, I don’t have that much space in my house but I set them up in a hotel… whatever. Just—come.” Auston says with more force. He doesn’t know where the idea is coming from, and the anxiety that Mitch could say no. But right now he can’t picture not seeing Mitch for months. This offseason may be the shortest he’s ever had but it’s still _months_. 

“Auston… I have a job here, I have… obligations. I can’t. I know it sounds easy for you, because for you it is. But life isn’t like that for me. There’s school for Ariella, Boarding House, I have practice… Tokyo. I can’t just leave because you think you’re going to miss me.”

Mitch is still looking amused; gentle and soft, but there is an undertone of reprimand, of chiding. It would make him angry. It _should_ make him angry. Because Mitch is so wrong about so many things. But instead, he's hurt. 

"I don't think I'll miss you, I know—I _know_ that I'll miss you. And I know it's not easy for you. Which is why I'm offering to do everything to make it possible." Auston takes a deep breath, reaches for Mitch's hand that has dropped away from his face. Holds it before Mitch can pull it away; before he can shut himself off. His fingers wander over the bony knuckles, bring them to his mouth so that he can kiss them. 

"You can bring everyone you need… your coach, Mac, Dylan and Brinks to look after Ari while you have practice. I mean, I—I don't think you need to because I'm sure mama and Bree and Alex would love to take care of her. Me too. We could take her to the butterfly sanctuary or to the water park… It's—It's nothing we couldn't figure out if you really want."

"Aus… Auston." With a soft touch to his lips, Mitch stops his rant. "I—I don't know what to say. Because I'd… I'd love to, I really do. But it's not that easy. This isn’t something that you can solve by throwing some money at it. And, yeah, I also know that you don't think that's what you're doing. But it is."

Mitch's hand is still over his mouth as he silently begs him not to object. 

"You haven't even told your dad about me. I mean… do you expect me to show up there and be—what? Your friend? That you invited with his daughter? Do you think that'll work? Because I don't. And your sisters? No one knows about me besides your mom. I'd be that friend if you want me to, that's not the problem, but do you expect your mom to lie, too?"

Finally, Mitch pulls his hand away, looks at Auston. 

"I'll tell him, tell them. Mama already loves you and Bree and Alex will, too. They will all love you, and Ari." 

"Okay." 

"Okay, you'll come?" 

"Okay, I'll think about it, I promise, okay? But I can't promise that I'll agree. There's so much at stake here and I—I should focus on the Olympics, Aus. I mean, it's the _Olympics_. I can't fuck that up."

Auston nods; tries to focus on the pride he feels for Mitch, on the hope that Mitch promised… instead of the disappointment that he didn't instantly agree. He tries to focus on understanding Mitch instead of the anxiety that he can't keep putting off telling his dad. On leaning forward to seal this deal with a kiss, and another and another until Mitch rolls them over and climbs on top of him. Naked and warm and glorious. Then suddenly every emotion other than _Mitch_ is gone and he can't think at all anymore. 

__

When Auston wakes up in the middle of the night Mitch isn’t beside him and the bed is cold. 

The room is dark except the soft orange light of the streetlamps from the living room and for green digits of the little clock next on the nightstand telling him it’s almost 4 am. It’s completely quiet, no sound in the bathroom. 

Auston sits up, tries not to worry but the last time he didn’t know where Mitch was in the middle of the night was when Ari was in the hospital and he… it’s his first thought. He can’t help it. There is no other reason why Mitch would leave him without waking him. 

“Mitch?” He asks quietly, fumbling for a light switch. Exhales slowly when he sees Mitch’s stuff is still here, even his phone is lying next to his pillow, and he would never leave without his phone. 

Auston calls his name again quietly while he gets up. His bathrobe is lying on the floor where he dropped it before and he grabs it on the way over to the living room area of the suite. 

The windows are wide open, the curtains billowing in the soft breeze coming from the lake; the fabric is translucent enough to show him Mitch’s figure sitting on the windowsill, back against the frame, legs drawn to his chest. 

He doesn’t seem surprised when Auston pulls back the curtain, smiles apologetically at him when Auston notices the cigarette in his hand. Of course, Auston knew that Mitch occasionally smoked, mostly when he’s either stressed out or relaxed, but he has never seen it before and it’s a strange sight. Wonders which one it is right now that made Mitch get up and leave him in the middle of the night. 

“Sorry… I—” Mitch smiles and shrugs awkwardly. “Didn’t expect you to wake up.”

“I thought it was something wrong with Ari at first.” Does Auston sound accusing? He thinks he does, but he also thinks he has the right to. 

“No. No, she’s fine. Everything’s fine.” He stretches his legs on the windowsill as he takes a drag, blows the smoke away from Auston. “Would’ve woken you up if something was wrong. I was… just thinking.” 

“About?” 

“Lots of things.” Again a shrug, while he arranges his legs so that his right one is dangling from the ledge and Auston’s breath catches in his throat for a second. But before he can say something, Mitch continues. 

“Your offer, for example.”

“That’s… that’s good.” Instinctively Auston places his hand on Mitch’s bare thigh; he’s still sitting inside, but far too close to the edge for Auston’s taste. It’s not like it's dangerous, but he can’t stop himself. “That’s all I wanted, really, but… can you please not do that?”

“What?! Sitting up here? Does it make you nervous?” Mitch’s grin gets wider as he leans further back and out of the window and looks down. “It’s not that high. Come on, or are you scared?”

“I’ve seen that movie, too. And no, I’m not jumping if you jump.” 

“Who said you’re Jack in that scenario?”

“Well, I’m definitely not pretty enough to be Vivian.”

“Awww, you think I’m pretty... You want to kiss me…” He starts to sing, completely out of tune and crooked. “You want to hug me... You want to love me... You want to smooch—” 

“I’ll push you.”

“Nah, you won’t. You _love_ me.” 

Auston freezes. 

Mitch’s words are so out of the blue, so unexpected that he feels lightheaded, stunned. Even though he shouldn’t. He should have expected it, and he did. He was prepared that it would come up after he woke up the morning before and during breakfast. While they made out afterwards—positions almost identical to the night before when Auston was pressing him into the mattress and held Mitch's hands above his head, when Auston pushed into him and drank his gasps like the gift they have been. When Auston fucked him with deep and grinding movements, putting too much of his weight on Mitch, but unable to stop himself from doing it because he couldn't stand not touching Mitch with all of his skin. 

But it’s not because Auston stopped expecting the words that they sting and taste like acid on his tongue. 

It’s the way Mitch says them lightly, still grinning, as if it’s the most hilarious thing in the world. As if he thinks it’s a joke. 

He only stops laughing when he notices the expression on Auston’s face, suddenly becomes serious, almost shocked; eyes wide. 

That’s when Auston realizes that he indeed thought it was a joke. 

“Wait… you—” This time his hands are trembling when he lifts the cigarette to his lips to take a final drag; it’s visible even in the low light of the orange glow when he stubs it out on the stone of the outer sill before he flips it down. 

“You meant that?” 

Auston doesn’t know if he’s supposed to laugh, to downplay it, take it back. Or just be hurt. But he is hurt, so much that he wants to hold onto something, to bow over and count his breaths until it stops. He does neither, because he’s bad at dealing with hurt, because he’s also offended—and even worse at dealing with that. 

“What did you think? That I randomly say things like that? For fun?”

“No!” Mitch sits upright now, draws his leg up and turns so that he’s fully facing him, hands reaching for Auston’s; laughing a little and then shaking his head. His face is unreadable. 

“No, I didn’t. I don’t! I just—I thought you were drunk, hyped from the win, from everything that happened. You repeated it… like ten times, and all that other stuff you said? It seemed a bit overexcited to me. I thought…" Again a headshake. “I mean, I clearly thought wrong, didn’t I?” 

He looks and sounds sheepish now. His thumb is brushing over the back of Auston’s hand, holding onto it, as if he’s scared Auston would pull away. 

“You meant it… you _meant_ it.” 

The change on his face is stunning to watch, and Auston wishes he could see it better: all of Mitch’s features becoming soft, and his eyes opening in wide awe, his mouth half-open, too amazed to even smile. 

(As if he can’t believe it, as if he told himself not to believe when he heard it last night.) 

“Yeah, I meant it.” 

“Oh my gosh, Aus—I’m stupid and sorry and so, _so_ stupid.” But now he’s starting to smile and it’s affecting enough that all of Auston’s anger and hurt evaporates into thin air. 

“Yeah, you are, very, very stupid. You’re lucky I like you so much. Otherwise, I'd push you from this window.” His threat is probably not very effective because he’s also grinning like a fool and doesn’t know if he’s ever going to stop. "And can you please get down now, you’re making me nervous.”

“I think what you meant is ‘ _you love me_ ’.” Mitch suddenly laughs; this loud and bright and delighted laugh that was the first thing that attracted him to Auston. But he dutifully jumps down and is right in front of Auston, so close that they are touching and Auston stops breathing. Stops thinking. 

Because Mitch repeats his words. Before he kisses him. 

He tastes of minty toothpaste and the cigarette he just smoked; strange and not Auston’s favourite. But 24 hours earlier he had thought that nothing could ever top the feeling of skating a lap around Scotiabank Arena while holding the cup that had been on his mind and in his dreams since he first set foot on the ice… now he knows that he was wrong. 

Because Mitch repeating these three little words—that is so much better. It’s nothing he knew he wanted until this very moment. 

It’s everything he never wants to forget. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this part around Christmas I think... so I was still hopeful for the playoffs. Silly me. I really thought they're getting further than this. Anyway, one can dream... and continue to hope that not all stories in which they win a cup will be alternate universes. Somehow I think it's pretty fitting that I publish exactly this chapter now... sorry if you weren't prepared for playoff memories  
> Also sorry for the huge amount of fluff again. I promise you some pain in the later parts ^.^


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for being late with the update after I announced it twice before, shame on me. But to make up for it you're getting two of my favourite chapters now. Chapter 7 because it was the hardest to write, and then chapter 8 because it was the easiest to write, and probably the cutest and fluffiest.  
> I hope you like them, too.  
> Just a little heads up... I'll probably now switch to posting only every second week because my beta-reader is pretty busy at the moment. I'm sorry for those who are waiting for updates. But the good thing about this is that she's busy writing her Big Bang story!

"Ngh… I don't want…" Mitch whines when his alarm goes off the next morning and Auston can't help but agree. Not because it's super early (it's half past nine, so it’s not that early but still way earlier than he would have liked considering that he has hardly slept the last two nights) but because he's not ready to leave this room, to leave Mitch and deal with other human beings, no matter how much he likes them and how great the parade is going to be. 

None of those people are Mitch and no parade could be as good as this: watching Mitch wake up. Seeing his nose and lips twitch, his lashes flutter against his cheeks, his small smile when his eyes find Auston; all the little details and expressions coming to life that make him the person Auston fell in love with. That make him the person he always wants to wake up with.

They haven't had the chance to do this a lot over the course of the season; not with hockey, Mitch's job and practices. At the beginning of their relationship, Auston didn't appreciate it, and when he finally did there was always something that came between them: Ari, early flights, work. But the last two days have been enough to make him realize that this is something he always wants to have. 

"I don't want to leave this room… like _ever_." 

"Pretty sure that you’ll get in trouble with housekeeping." Auston huffs but he understands because he doesn't want to do that either. He’s not ready and is sure that he never will be. 

"But I love this bed… It's so soft and big and amazing. Do you think they'll notice if we just kidnap it?" 

"I'm sure it won't fit in the elevator, and also not in your room, but we can try if you want." Auston sits up, mostly because it's stuffy under the covers, but it also has the benefit that he can watch how Mitch's body shivers, as if he's a wet dog. That he can also admire his naked chest with all the love bites he left there the night before. "You know what also comes with a very nice big bed? My house in Scottsdale. And there’s no check-out time." 

"Ugh, stop it." Mitch grabs his pillow and pushes it into Auston's smirking face. "I promised that I'd think about it. Also, what's so wrong about you spending summer here in Toronto? If you miss me that much?" 

"It doesn't have my family." Auston knows that's a low blow, using his family as an excuse—when there is nothing that Mitch values more, that he would do anything for his daughter. 

"That would be easier to rectify than me coming to Arizona two weeks before I have to travel to Japan." 

"Toronto is disgusting in summer." 

"That is so not true! It's really nice here in summer, with the lake and the endless blue skies, the breeze coming in off the water…"

"Everybody told me it's hot and muggy and smelly because there is no such thing as a draft from the lake. It's also packed with tourists because the only time you can visit are the two months the temperatures are above freezing."

"Hey!" Mitch hits him again with the pillow, always ready to defend his precious hometown. "That's definitely not true. I mean… it kind of is, but that's what cottage country is for."

"I don't have a cottage and I'm pretty sure it's a bit too late to rent one." This time Auston catches the pillow and throws it to the armchair before he snatches Mitch's now weaponless hands and steals a kiss, or two. “Also, what’s the point of staying when we’d have to get out of town?”

"I heard Tyler Seguin has a nice cottage in Muskoka. I'm pretty sure if you give him a call, he'd be happy to help you out." 

"Ty—How do you know…? Oh my god! You have a crush on Seguin?"

Mitch looks up at him, blinks innocently; but it's fake and Auston totally called it, because there's a light blush on his cheeks and he bites his lips in a cute and playfully ashamed way. Auston wishes it wouldn't work on him. Auston wishes that Mitch couldn't play him like no one else, that he wouldn't be charmed by every little thing he does. 

(But he wouldn't change it for any money in the world.)

"Was he your gay awakening?" He teases, partly because he wants to see how much he can make Mitch blush. Partly because he's really curious. 

"He's hot, I mean…"

"C'mon, he's not that hot." 

Mitch jerks up, eyes him incredulously, almost affronted. "Excuse me, but… have you seen him? He is _that_ hot." 

Maybe Mitch has a point here, and maybe Auston once thought the same thing, but he would never admit it; at least, not aloud. He has some pride left. 

"I will not call him just because he has a cottage and you want to hang out there with him and admire his ridiculous abs." 

"Ah, so you have paid attention to his abs. Was he your gay awakening, too? Please tell me so much more."

"You're nuts and we have to get ready, so move your bony ass." 

Auston swings his legs out of the bed and gets up—without taking another look at Mitch who's still sitting there, half-tangled in the sheets, half-naked… all that sweet and salty pale skin visible for his eyes, all his because Mitch said it back. Leaving this room is already hard enough, he doesn't have to make it impossible. 

But then Mitch joins him in the shower, steps behind him and puts his arms around him while the water rains down on them. Places his head between Auston's shoulder blades and then presses wet kisses into his skin. Never letting go of him, not even for a second while he takes on the task of soaping them up. His touches and movements are careful and meticulous, dutiful almost and dedicated. Never lingering longer than necessary, never teasing—and still so arousing that Auston is hard by the time Mitch is finished. 

Painfully hard. So much so that he doesn't even pretend to return the favour for Mitch. Instead, he just lifts him and presses him against the tiles, swallows Mitch's protests until they stop and the tension leaves Mitch's body and he's heavy and lax in Auston's arms. Head back and throat bare for Auston to suck more bruises to his skin while they rub off against each other and Mitch's protests turn into deep breathy moans. 

Neither of them brings up any further discussions about king beds and cottages or Tyler Seguin anymore. 

__

Of course, Willy laughs his ass off when Auston tells him later that day. It's not that he expected anything else, but it's not like he really cares. Mitch said it back. 

Mitch loves him back. 

So Willy can laugh as much as he wants—Auston has a boyfriend who kidnapped him for two days of blissful sex in a crazy luxurious suite, a boyfriend who is hot and funny and awesome… who's visiting him in Arizona and meeting his parents. 

Technically Mitch hasn't given him the answer to that yet, but he's coming to their party later that night. And he will come home with Auston after that. That has to mean something. 

Mitch isn't the only one who can be very convincing when he wants something. 

__

"Uhm, why do our tickets say _business class_?" Mitch's voice is so not amused and usually, that would make Auston less amused than it does. But he's in too great a mood to actually care. 

"Aus… we talked about that."

"Maybe it was a mistake?"

"Are you—" An exhale, followed by three seconds of silence. Okay, maybe Mitch is really pissed. They talked over this, after all. But it's still not enough to dampen Auston's anticipation. 

"Are you kidding me? I told you I won't board this fucking plane if you book us anything but economy class. Why… I mean, you know how much I that hate you're paying for these tickets in the first—"

Auston cuts him off, rolling his eyes. 

"Can you please just shut the fuck up and… I don't know? Accept that I want you both here? And that I want you both to have a great trip?" It's not like he's really annoyed but it doesn't hurt to make his voice sound as if he is. It usually works with Mitch. Distractions work as well, so he changes the topic. 

"Can you please text me the info about which car seat I have to get?" 

"You're picking us up?"

"Yes, Mitch, I'm picking you up. Did you think I'll fly you out to the West Coast and then let you take an Uber?" 

"No… okay, maybe I didn't—I mean usually it's just me flying." 

"Is Ari excited?"

"What do you think?" Mitch's expression becomes softer and Auston can't wait to see him in less than 72 hours. It's been too long already; especially after they have spent so much time together in the week after the cup win. Getting to Scottsdale almost felt like going through withdrawal; he doesn't regret it, had needed it—but that doesn't mean that he hasn't been counting the days until Mitch would arrive. 

"Have you told your dad?"

It's not like Auston hasn't expected this question… But it's still the one he was hoping wouldn't come up. Because, no, he still hasn't told his dad. Hasn't told anyone but his mama. Not even his sisters, who have been picking up his good mood and teasing him constantly, who think he's excited about seeing his girlfriend. If there was a way to lie about this, he probably would have done it. But there isn't and Auston isn't a liar. 

"Not yet." 

"Dude, I swear if I get there and you haven't told him because you think ‘ripping the bandaid off _’_ would be a good idea… We'll be back on a plane to Toronto faster than you can spell 'coming out'. Honestly, I'm so not kidding."

He sounds serious and he probably is. Still…

"So you get to do that but I don’t?" 

(It's half a tease and half not.)

"Not the same, Aus, totally _not_ the same. If it were just me, I'd be okay, but it's not. I'm bringing my little girl and if your dad or sisters are anything but prepared, or if they hesitate… or don’t react the way you think they will and make her feel uncomfortable…" Mitch trails off. His expression is a mixture of worry and annoyance. 

"Mitch… Mama loves you already and the others will, too. Why don't you trust me on this?" 

"Maybe because you'd have already told them if you're so sure they’ll approve?" 

"That's… That's not the reason." Auston shakes his head, makes sure that Mitch sees the conviction in his expression, the plea to believe him. He turns around on the lounge chair, props the phone against the cushion so that he doesn't have to hold it anymore. "It's just—it's hard, that's everything. Wasn't it hard for you, too?"

The second this is out of his mouth Auston kind of wants to hit himself. Because Mitch's face literally freezes. No twitching, no flinching, no blinking. It lasts so long that Auston thinks the connection broke due to the slow wifi in his parent’s house. Then Mitch swallows; his Adam's apple bobs and his gaze flickers with insecurity. Then he averts it completely. 

"I—I never had to come out to my parents." 

"You…? But—" 

Mitch shakes his head, still not looking at him, as if that would make Auston forget about the hundreds of questions he has; the feeling of peeking through a half-open door that is shut right in his face after he got just a glimpse of something very precious and painful. 

He wants to rattle that door, to pry it open with a crowbar, wants to break into the room and learn all about the secrets buried in there. 

Except he can't—not like this. Not when Mitch is looking at him like this. Like he's sad and sorry and confused at the same time. Not when he starts biting his lip vehemently again and walking around the room. 

"I'll… this is not something for the phone. I'm sorry, but let’s—let’s talk about it another time, okay?"

Not when he stutters an apology and a promise that doesn't satisfy Auston at all. 

So he nods and exhales, waits until Mitch looks at him again. His eyes are lighter than usual and he's even a little bit pale, as if he's still shocked about the question or whatever memory it evoked in him. 

"Talk to your dad, Aus. And call me later, whenever… no matter how late, okay?"

"There won't be any need, it'll all be fine."

Even to his own ears, it sounds as if he really believes it. 

"Call me anyway. I want to hear your voice when I fall asleep."

__

Auston doesn't really know why he's nervous, why he's drumming his fingers against the steering wheel as he slowly drives through the narrow lanes of his parents' neighbourhood. 

Because he knows—really knows that his family will love Mitch and Ari, just like they would love _them_. And it's not like he hasn’t brought a girl home before. So it shouldn't feel as big as it feels.

Except it kind of does. 

Because it's been years and he never dated those girls for longer than a couple of weeks. He never really cared if they liked his parents and sisters, or the other way around. He never said 'I love you' to them, didn't even consider it. 

And he never felt like one of them could break his heart. 

Mitch must feel it, too. He's so quiet in the passenger seat; legs spread and elbow against the window, lips bitten so much that they look red and worried. Unlike usual he's dressed very nice, clean sneakers, dark jeans that fit him well and a navy shirt without any logos. It's probably the reason he appears so uncomfortable even though Auston already told him three times that he looks good. ("You always think I look good so that's not helpful.") But the colour of his shirt goes great with his Toronto-pale skin, and he even combed his hair and tamed it with gel. 

Auston may always think that he looks good, but today he looks super good. 

The only one in the car chatting up a storm and completely unaware of the gravity and seriousness of the situation is Ariella, who is in the back in the car seat that Auston bought for her. Today is the first time that Mitch has argued with her about her clothes—usually, he lets her pick whatever she wants, but they’d actually had quite a discussion about it while Auston stood in the doorway, watching them having a staring contest until Mitch finally caved and let her have her way; too exhausted and probably too nervous to deal with her. 

They had arrived not even four hours ago, but his bungalow is already a mess, toys in the living room, Mitch's half-unpacked backpack in the master bedroom and Ari's suitcase completely empty because she needed _that_ particular dress. There are still muddy footprints on the tiles in the hallway and grass stains in the shower from the water fight they had in his yard. But it helped break the tension and distract Mitch from the barbecue in the evening, made Ari feel at home… so it was definitely worth it. 

Auston parks the car behind his dad's in the driveway and reaches for Mitch's hand to brush his thumb over its back; the skin cold and clammy, and Mitch shivers in surprise at the touch. He looks so small and insecure that Auston can't help but lean in and press a short kiss to his cheek, whisper into his ear. 

"Stop worrying… they'll love you, believe me. They'll love you both. I can't imagine anyone not falling in love with you both." 

But Mitch just huffs and the grin that appears on his face looks grim and forced for a few seconds until it melts into a warmer and more gently smile. His hand shifts and closes around Auston's, repeating the reassuring gesture. 

They both flinch and jerk around when suddenly a loud honk interrupts them; Alex’s red Toyota is parked right behind them, with both of his sisters waving and smiling brightly at them. 

"Guess that was our last chance to escape." Mitch jokes weakly; his voice sounding a little crazy, but Auston can see that he's bracing himself, that he's suppressing his doubts and worries so that he can be his usual bright and happy self—carefree and sweet. Ready to charm every single member of Auston's family the way he charmed Auston and probably every single person he has ever met. 

(Because Auston didn't lie. He really can't imagine anyone not falling in love with Mitch.) 

They exchange one final glance and then climb out of the car. Ari has already unfastened her seatbelt when Auston opens the door for her. But instead of jumping down she hesitates, looks up at him expectantly until he leans in and she slides her thin arms around his neck so that he can carry her. It's not the first time she’s shown him that much affection (she's Mitch's daughter and made of affection and smiles and love), yet it's the first time she’s relied on his help for something she usually does by herself. And climbing out of the car is definitely one of the things she can do herself, even when Auston's car is much bigger than Brinks'. 

Maybe she has picked up Mitch's strange mood, their tension, their anxiety. Because she doesn't insist on being lowered to the ground after he’s helped her out. Instead, she tightens her grip around his neck and winds her legs around his body. It's cute and nice that she obviously trusts him enough, so he doesn't even try to set her down, even though Auston knows that Mitch isn't very keen on spoiling her like this. 

"Those are my sisters, they're very nice. I'm sure they love you and you'll love them." 

Together they round the car to where Mitch has already introduced himself to Alex and Bree, all three of them smiling; a little bit awkward and stiff, but he's sure that will pass soon. The second Ari spots her dad she starts to disentangle herself and leans towards Mitch, so he hands her over and goes to hug his sisters. It's only a short hug he gets from each; but almost too tight, almost gloating when they separate and turn their attention back to Mitch and Ariella, asking for her name and complimenting her dress. 

"I think we almost match." Bree points to her white linen dress. It has fewer frills, but Auston guesses that this doesn't matter to Ari. Because she beams at his sister and playfully lifts the skirt to show off her dress. Mitch throws his head back in defeat, looks at him.

"And that's why I insisted on the pants underneath." 

Auston laughs. 

"Sweetie, there's no need for Bree and Alex to also see your pants. I think they can see the dress just fine. In fact, I think they can see it even better when you're standing on the ground." He lowers her and she's probably too distracted anymore to be shy because she doesn't protest and twirls for Bree who does the same, both giggling. 

"You got everything? We should go in, I can see Mama peeking through the curtains. She's probably dying to meet you." Alex nods in the direction of the house.

"Yeah, just let me…" Mitch snatches his bag from the backseat and hands it to Auston before grabbing the gifts he insisted on buying for his parents. Auston can see his hands are trembling and he just has to lean against him, brush his nose against Mitch's for a small fleeting moment, whispering an almost inaudible 'I love you' in his ear. 

His mama opens the door before they have a chance to ring the bell, before they have even climbed all the front steps. Her hair is in slight disarray—a sign that she's probably been working in the kitchen for hours and fretting over things that are totally unnecessary. But her smile is warm and sweet, and all for Mitch and his girl. 

Auston has watched her fall in love with every new story he’s told her, and with every new picture he’s showed her. He should be nervous, should worry about having built up the expectations too high; for both his mama and Mitch. He knows that that's Mitch's biggest worry—falling short in the eyes of his mama. But this is the part he is the least anxious about. The bit he has been the surest and most confident about. 

Because his mama pulls Mitch into a hug before he can even finish his greetings, pulls him down to her level and embraces him with all the warmth that Auston has always loved the most about her. 

"It's so good to have you here, honey. To finally meet you in person." 

"Thanks, ma'am, I'm—we're super happy to be here." Mitch looks a bit overwhelmed, cheeks red and hair in his eyes from leaning over to return the hug. (He may be used to Dylan's constant hugs and affection, but Auston's mama is a whole different level.)

"This is my girl, Ariella—Ella, this is Auston's mama, Mrs. Matthews." 

Ari waves, way less shy than before when she was meeting his sisters. 

"Hello Mrs. Matth—Matthews." 

"I hope you're both gonna call me Ema, I don't like feeling old." 

"You're very pretty." Ari blurts out. "You look like Alex and Bree."

Mitch chuckles as he lowers himself to her level and brushes her hair back. “I think it’s more the other way around, sweetie. But yeah, you’re right, they all are really pretty. What a pity that Auston didn’t get any of the good looks though.” 

He winks and Auston’s fake protest dies right away. 

“Oh thank you, my dear. You’re going to be a heartbreaker like your dad soon, aren’t you?” Ema laughs, her accent thicker when she’s happy. 

“My daddy has a jewel in his tongue.” 

Ari’s totally serious announcement is like a bomb, the ice breaker the situation didn’t even call for, but the second the words are out of her mouth Mitch flushes so much that Auston is almost worried about him, and Alex bursts out in laughter, actually bows over while Bree squeals loudly. 

“Oh my god, I love her.” 

Auston’s cheeks feel hot, too, when he looks at his mama, torn between embarrassment and affection, but then he can’t hold back anymore and starts laughing, too. It’s more a cough because he tried for too long to hold it in and he can feel tears prickling in his eyes. He should probably help Mitch out, but it’s just too good. 

“Ella! I—I don’t think that is anything Mrs. Matthews - Ema - needed to hear. Or anyone actually.” He’s deep red and stuttering and Auston loves him so much. 

“Well, sweetie that’s a piece of interesting information.” 

“Very interesting indeed.” Alex fake coughs, then nudges Auston in his side with her elbow. “Tell me more, please.” 

“God, you’re awful.” he shoves her away, and together they stumble up the stairs and follow the others into the house and onto the patio, where his dad set up the barbecue. 

— 

Auston's family loves Mitch and Ari.

It’s not like he had any serious doubts about this evening but he still had been nervous. Unnecessarily nervous because only the first few minutes were a little awkward, and then even his dad had been charmed by Ari's cleverness and her sunny smile. 

Unlike his mama, he hadn't taken it as well, as smoothly, when Auston told him—and that wasn't surprising. His father is the one most involved with his career, the one who's the most worried about anything affecting it. The one that Auston is the least close to, especially when it comes to his personal life. He's the one Auston comes to with questions about hockey, about sports and media or contracts; he's not the one he comes to with matters of his heart. But like his mama, he loves and supports him with every decision, has his back no matter what, even though he's less vocal and less affectionate; cool where his mama is warm, hesitating where she is overwhelming and happy. 

Maybe Auston should have told him sooner, should have trusted him with this sooner, because he could see that he hurt his father by telling him so late, by not correcting him whenever he joked about Auston seeing a girl. It was a shock for him at first, and Auston couldn't really figure out if it was because Auston kept a secret for so long after he had already told his mother and his sisters. Or if it was because his only son wouldn't bring home the nice girl that he had wanted for him. But Auston could give him that—no father was probably happy about finding out their only son was bisexual and dating a man, even less a man who already had a six-year-old kid. 

It would probably take him much longer to get used to it, to overcome his concern for Auston's career and heart. To dissolve the hurt about being the last one to know. 

But he promised to be open, to get to know Mitch and Ari and Auston knew he would keep that promise; not only because his wife was clearly on Auston's side, but also because he could probably see how much Auston wanted it, how much it would hurt Auston if he didn't. 

It was everything Auston expected of him, and enough. Mitch's easiness and humour, his smile and happiness would do the rest, along with Ari's cuteness and smartness. 

Them meeting his dad has been less affectionate and less enthusiastic, but Auston could see that his eyes lit up when Ari introduced herself and shook his outstretched hand, looking up at him to take in his height with awe. 

Dinner is almost like normal, almost like dinner at Mitch's place—everyone talking fast and loud, bombarding Mitch with thousands of questions about skateboarding and the upcoming Olympics (his dad), about living in Toronto and Ari going to school soon (his mama), about living with Auston and dealing with his antics (his sisters). 

After his first beer, Mitch declines another one but nudges Auston to go for it. 

"I can drive later, don't worry, you're on vacation and I have practice tomorrow." 

It's probably awfully domestic because Auston can feel the eyes of his sisters on him during the little exchange. But he ignores them for now and stands up to get more beer for his dad and himself, while Bree refills the girl's glasses with margaritas. If she refills her own, too, no one comments on it. 

"Was it difficult to figure out your training here?" 

"Oh… well, a little bit more complicated than at home or in LA for sure. But Mac - a friend of mine - gave me some contacts and I found someone willing to record my practice so that I can work over the routine via skype or FaceTime with my coach. I would have preferred to practice in Toronto, to be honest—but you probably know how persuasive your son can be if he's got something in his head." 

"Don't you think it'll hurt your chances in Tokyo? I mean, out of patriotic sense I should probably be glad about that." 

Mitch grins at the joke and smiles up at Auston when he hands him a coke. 

"So, that was your motivation behind that move?! I thought it was because you'd miss me."

"Of course, team USA sticks together." 

"What do you think are your chances?" Alex leans back in her chair. "Auston said you're very good." 

Mitch looks at him in surprise, cheeks a little bit red; as if he's surprised that Auston either talked about him or that Auston thinks so highly of his skills. Auston rolls his eyes. 

"I—I honestly can't tell. It's still a huge honour for me to be representing my country at all, so I'm just happy to be there and give it my best." 

Auston's dad frowns a little bit and Auston can feel himself tense up. Mitch's carelessness probably doesn't go well with his father's expectations and ambitions to aim for the best and never settle for less than that. Obviously his mama sees it too because she leans closer to her husband and puts her hand on his lower arm. 

"I think it's a very humble and perfect answer for the media, honey." She winks at Mitch. "It is a great honour and I'm sure your best will be amazing." 

"Thanks, Ema… and I maybe still have some aces up my sleeve so that I can surprise some people." 

After dinner they clear the table, Mitch and Ari helping without any hesitation, Ari carefully carrying her plate to the kitchen before running back to bring Alex the dessert spoons. 

"Oh my god, what a polite girl!" 

"You only say that because you weren’t there this afternoon for her fit about the dress." Mitch starts to hand Ema the dirty dishes so she can load the dishwasher while Auston leans against the counter, watching them and taking a sip of his beer. 

"But she's right, this dress is much cuter than the other one." 

It's a tease but the look Mitch sends over to him isn't really impressed. Fake and cute, because the frown doesn't really go with his nature and because he can't hold it up for longer than a quarter-second. Yet, he tried and Auston loves to see the warmth that Mitch can't keep from his expression. 

"A girl should have strong opinions." Bree nods as she's rummaging around the fridge. 

"Believe me, this girl has really strong opinions already. In fact, my life would be so much easier if she didn't." 

If Mitch thinks that he can fool anyone in the room he's seriously wrong, because even if Auston didn't know how proud he was of his little girl, he could see it right on his face. 

"But she's so tiny! I wouldn't believe she's already six. Doesn't she eat?" 

"Oh Mrs. Ma—Ema, you saw her eating. How can you ask that?"

"And you, too." Ema reaches for Mitch's face and pads his cheek. She has to lean up to do that, but she still manages to look dignified and maternal. Auston shakes his head; because only his mama would fret over someone who just ate two steaks and (reluctantly) two vegetable kebobs, after also demolishing the world’s biggest pile of nachos. 

"Auston has to take you out for dinner more." 

She whirls around and eyes him sternly. As if he doesn’t already have every restaurant in a 2-mile radius of his condo on speed dial. 

"Did you hear that, Aus? Did you?" Mitch wipes his hands on his thighs, grinning at him. And Auston wants to walk over to him, press him against the counter and kiss the smirk right from his face until he's panting and his lids flutter. He doesn't, but it's a close thing. Instead, he tightens his grip around the granite edge of the countertop—especially when Mitch flusters, when he brushes his hair back behind his ear, clearly embarrassed and reading Auston's gaze right. 

"I'm kidding, Em, Auston's… He's trying. But I'm a bottomless hole." 

"So that means you're not gonna pass on the churros?" 

"Only over my dead body!" 

"Auston can't have any during the season…" She pouts a little as if Auston's nutrition plan personally offends her, so he walks over and presses a short kiss to the crown of her head, calming and affectionate. 

"Because I gain a stone when I just look at them." 

"But you need to eat more now— he got so thin, didn't he?" 

Mitch laughs, head thrown back and neck on wide display before he grabs a pile of dessert plates to march out of the kitchen, leaving Auston alone with his mama and his sisters. It's not a situation he ever wanted to be in, not this evening or ever, which is probably exactly the reason Mitch did it. But these are three of Auston's favourite people in the whole world; he can't hide anything from them, doesn't have to or want to. Their gentle mockery is the approval he expected but didn't know he needed. 

The moment Mitch is out of earshot and chatting with his dad on the patio while helping Ari set the table, all three women are upon him. 

"Oh. My. God. Auston, he's cute." 

"Way too good for you. How did you manage to bag him?" Alex sounds far too serious for his liking. "Honestly, if you ruin this, I'm gonna be so, so mad."

"Aren't you supposed to give him the shovel talk?! I'm your brother here." 

"Yeah, but you're also an asshole when it comes to relationships."

"Alexandria!" 

"Jeez, I'm right, mama, aren't I?" She shrugs.

"Don't talk about your brother like that. But yes, Mitch's a darling." 

Ema's expression is so soft that Auston has to bring his arm around her shoulders and pull her in, too happy to even dignify his sisters' jibes with a response. And then, when they join them in their hug, even happier. 

__

Apparently not even Mitch and Ariella managed to eat the mountain of churros his mama dished up, so Mitch is carrying three huge Tupperware boxes with leftovers while Auston carries a sleeping Ariella to the car; her white dress stained with chocolate sauce and her usually straight black hair messed up, drowning in one of Auston's old hoodies because she got cold after the sun had set. 

Mitch isn't wearing a sweater, and his skin is prickled with goosebumps when Auston reaches for his hand where it’s lying on the gear shift. He put his address into the GPS so he doesn't have to give directions and can keep his eyes on Mitch while he's driving; his usually messy hair is tamed with Ari's butterfly hairclip and he looks tired, even though it's hard to tell because he's smiling softly and contently as he quickly glances to Auston and meets his gaze as he turns his hand over and entwines it with Auston's fingers; warm and perfect. 

Auston may still be a little drunk, and was definitely too drunk to drive, but not too drunk to not want to jump Mitch more with every minute that passes until they arrive at his house—the urge almost unbearable when they have finally closed the door behind them. 

But instead, he presses a tentative kiss to Ari's cheek and whispers 'good night' into her sleeping ear before Mitch carries her into Auston's guestroom; leaving Auston behind in the living room where he starts to pick up shoes and floaties from the floor and tries to collect himself. Mitch may be here, and they haven't seen each other in two weeks, but Auston knows that nothing can happen, not with Ari sleeping in the guest room and Mitch probably too alert to close the door. 

No matter how much he wants it—no matter how much they both may want it. 

So he pours himself and Mitch a glass of water and sits down on the couch to wait for him. He's not tired since he did basically nothing but sleep and eat in the last ten days since he got home, but Mitch will be because he's been training and working constantly. The time difference may only be two hours yet that still makes it almost 1 am in the morning for Mitch, and Auston reasons with himself to not be disappointed if Mitch falls asleep the moment he joins him on the couch. 

Auston distracts himself with his phone, reading the texts he received—mostly from his sisters in their group chat but also from some of the guys. He's too lazy to answer any of them, to even really care. It's just to pass the time and to not look too eager, until soft bare footsteps and a quiet amused chuckle announce Mitch's presence. 

"Can I join you or are you too busy?"

His phone and all the messages are forgotten when he lifts his eyes, when they wander over Mitch's naked shins and thighs, over the deep royal blue with the white stripes, over the familiar maple leaf crest and the white 'A' on the left side, right where Mitch's heart is. 

Auston stops breathing, stops thinking. All he knows is Mitch and the love and want he feels for him. It's almost too much, and it almost hurts. 

But mostly it's overwhelming in the best way possible. Unreal. Seeing Mitch standing in front of him with this sweet and insecure smile, wearing his jersey, his number, wearing it like a sign of belonging… It makes something twist inside Auston’s chest; something fierce, something painful, something so big that it fills up every vein and cell in his body. 

He doesn't even realize how long he's been staring up at Mitch, how his tongue has turned to sandpaper and dust until Mitch leans forward to pluck the phone out of his hand and toss it onto the armchair, until Mitch climbs onto his lap and winds his arms around him. 

"Hi," he whispers, lips almost close enough to kiss.

Auston swallows, hands going instinctively to Mitch's waist before he closes the short distance between them, brings their mouths together for a tentative, teasing kiss. It's delicate and dreamlike and it lasts long enough to deprive him of all the oxygen still left in his lungs—never more than a tickling touch, never more than the taste of a promise. Because whenever he leans up to deepen the contact, Mitch smiles and pulls away to keep it light and soft until Auston thinks he's going crazy and tightens his grip so that Mitch can't escape anymore. 

Their real kiss is even better, like the sun breaking through clouds, like breathing after being underwater for far too long. Like waking from a dream. 

They both gasp when they can't take it anymore, but they never really part while Mitch slides closer until their dicks are brushing each other—a movement that makes Auston's head spin and fall back against the headrest, moaning loudly when Mitch starts to rub against him. 

"Fuck—Mitch, you're… so good." 

"Yeah? Like my outfit?" 

"Love it. I, I love it." Auston lets his hands wander from Mitch's waist to his hips, to his thighs until they finally meet naked skin, until he can slip them under the seam of the jersey. Mitch's breath stutters where his face is buried in Auston's neck; a sound that could be a laugh, but also a whimper. It doesn't really matter because it's enough to show Auston that he's not the only one affected by their closeness, by their togetherness after being apart for two weeks. So he grabs Mitch's ass - small and delicious and sadly still covered by his boxers - and pulls him in, in, _in_. So that Mitch is sitting directly over his crotch and Auston can thrust up against his sweet taint. Close, so _close_ , but still separated by too many layers of fabric. 

"Thought you've forgotten, thought you'd… never do it."

Mitch bites him, just on the wrong side of painless, but on the right side of arousing; more a reward than a punishment, and Auston has to bend his head to give Mitch more access, to get more access to Mitch's throat. 

"I _promised_." 

"You… didn't need to. I would've picked you and Ari up no matter what." Auston's fingers dig into the cleft between Mitch's ass cheeks; he doesn't know if it's to still Mitch's movements or to speed them up and increase the friction. But Mitch goes rigid, tenses up completely and shivers in his arms. 

"Aus… _Aus_." Now it's definitely a whimper, as desperate as Auston feels. 

"But you like it… this is working for you, too?" Auston's question is only rhetorical. Because he can hear it, he can feel it with every little reaction of Mitch's body. It's amazing and beautiful to know that he's able to do that to Mitch—that he's the one evoking these gasps. That he's the one making Mitch lose control. 

"Tell me how much you like to wear my number… how much you love to be mine." 

Auston is already painfully hard, leaking; from being close to Mitch, from his movements; from knowing that he's Auston's. It's like every little thing he does is designed to drive Auston crazy. The raspy voice, the little kisses and bites, the scent and taste and feeling of his body under Auston's fingers when he slips his hands into Mitch's boxers because not touching his naked skin is impossible. The twists of Mitch's hips in Auston's lap; riding Auston's clothed dick with more and more urgency and desperation while Auston grinds up at him, holding him in place because he's afraid he would come soon. _Too soon_. Because he doesn't want this to be over. 

"I—I do, Auston. I love it… love seeing your number on me. Love being yours. I'm—" Mitch's fingers are in his hair, gripping it tightly, almost yanking, almost painful; except that Auston doesn't mind, doesn't mind seeing this possessive side of Mitch. "I'm close. So close, don't stop."

Auston can feel it; Mitch's erection rubbing hot over his belly, probably already staining the inside of his jersey with precum, an idea that should be gross but only turns him on more. 

"I've got you, don't worry. I've… I'm close, too." He pants, lips sliding over the shell of Mitch's ear, nose pressed into his soft hair; smelling faintly of Auston's shampoo and hair gel. 

Suddenly Mitch loosens his arms and sits up, is almost too far away so that Auston growls at the loss of his heat and the feeling of his weight on his chest. But every little protest dies when he looks up at Mitch again, when the different angle increases the pressure on his dick. With flushed cheeks and clouded eyes, with his messed up hair and puffy lips, Mitch is a sight Auston wants to burn into his memory. 

"Come for me, Aus… please." 

Mitch's hands are on Auston's chest, fingers clawing into his pecs; he looks lost and also sweet and Auston lets go of Mitch's ass and sits up so that their bodies are pressed together again. No matter how much he loves to look at Mitch; it's more important to feel him, to kiss him. 

"Aus…ton. _Please_." 

Hearing Mitch begging is enough for him. It’s the thing that pushes him over the edge and makes him come so hard that he thinks his heart stops. 

He doesn't know how much time has passed when he opens his eyes again and finds Mitch crumpled against his chest, panting heavily and quivering, still hard, as if he has waited for Auston to watch him, as if he waited for Auston's _permission_. Waited for Auston to pull him closer, to sneak his hands back into his boxers, to gently brush over his hole while sucking on the spot below Mitch's ear that is probably already sporting an impressive bruise because Mitch gasps loudly and comes with a sob. 

They stay like that for a long time, separated by fabric and skin, too spent to even trade kisses, with Mitch's face buried in Auston's neck, breathing warm and moist and calming, just like his heartbeat that echoes through Auston's chest, a bit slower than his own, but as grounding as his body in his lap. Both of them are sweaty and sticky and yet neither of them moves, neither seems to even think about getting up and out of their stained underwear. Both of them whispering almost inaudible promises into their ears—not really making sense for anyone but them. 

When Mitch finally sits back up Auston finds his eyes glassy and his lashes wet with tears clinging to them, glittering streaks on his cheek. He freezes in shock and dismay. 

"Mitch, what—? Is… what did I do?" 

"Nothing, I…" He laughs brokenly. "I'm happy. _So happy_."

Auston swallows, a lump in his throat so big and heavy that he feels hot and suffocating. It's not the first time Mitch has taken away his breath, not the first time he feels helpless with all the affection in his chest, not the first time Mitch overwhelms him and extinguishes every thought and every emotion inside him until everything that is left is _Mitch's_. 

But it's the first time he's not scared of it anymore. That he thinks this is the way it's supposed to be. Mitch in his arms and in his house; with his sleeping girl in Auston's guestroom and her toys scattered around the living room. 

He cups Mitch's hot face in his hands and wipes away the tears with his thumbs before pressing his forehead against Mitch's, trying to calm him, to calm himself. 

"I just love you so much… and I—I didn't know how much I needed to see it, to be able to show it instead of oppressing it. I didn't mean to cry. Didn't mean to say this actually. But today was a lot." 

"I know…" 

"To meet your family, to get to touch you, to get to be your boyfriend in front of anyone who isn't just one of my friends." Mitch inhales, laughs; a dry sound that could also be a cough. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean it that way. I know you can't tell—and it's okay, I get it. But it still was nice." 

" _Mitch_ …" Auston doesn't know what to say. He only knows that there isn't really anything that he can say. Because he understands, because he feels the same. Felt the same when he had to introduce Mitch as a mere buddy at the party after the parade, when he had to withhold and go against every single one of his instincts that told ~~screamed at~~ him to keep Mitch at his side, to constantly touch him and kiss him—just like all the other guys did with their girlfriends. When they had to lie and sneak away for short moments, hiding in dark corners and toilet stalls because it had been too much. 

He understands it—and he hates it. Maybe even more than Mitch. At least he has always thought so until this very moment. 

But before he can open his mouth and say something Mitch leans up and kisses him again. One long kiss, followed by many little ones, interrupted by smiles that make it impossible for Auston to keep track, that make it impossible to say things he's not ready to. Impossible to not answer them with the same vigour and intensity until they are both satisfied. 

__

Later when they are lying in Auston's huge bed, which had never felt empty except for when he got back two weeks ago, Mitch curls up at his side, still slightly wet from their shower, smelling clean and fresh and like _Auston_. The jersey got discarded along with their other soiled clothes in a pile next to the hamper. But Auston is sure he would never forget the way Mitch looked this night. 

It wasn’t the first time Mitch had worn his jersey and his number, but it was the first time Auston could act upon it the way he had always wanted. The first time Mitch has _really_ worn it—not just the jersey of the star forward of the Toronto Maple Leafs, a jersey that is worn by maybe a million people. 

"A penny for your thoughts." Mitch whispers, his head on the cushion next to Auston's, his fingers trailing lazy circles on Auston's upper arm, their legs entwined. 

"You tell me." 

"I asked first." 

"I don't care." Auston shakes his head; amused and happy and wide awake even though it's the middle of the night; almost early morning. But sex and Mitch - _sex with Mitch_ \- has always been able to reinvigorate him better than anything else. "This time it's your turn."

Mitch sighs so dramatically that one would think Auston asked him to swallow glass, not just tell him what's going on in his head. 

"You—do you think it went well? I mean you're super relaxed and all… So I," he closes his eyes for a second, draws out the word. "So I assume they liked us?" 

If Auston didn't love him so much he would have probably shoved him from the bed. But he can see that Mitch isn’t just fishing for compliments, that he's seriously worried. Mitch's expression is so soft, so vulnerable. 

"Your mom is amazing… it would—really kind of break my heart if she didn't like us." 

If Auston didn't love him so much he would have probably laughed out loud. But he can't see the sadness and the insecurity in Mitch's eyes and not treat him seriously. 

"And your sisters, too! They were so great with El and they made her feel so welcome. I don’t think I've ever seen her as impressed with someone as she was with Bree." 

If Auston didn't love him so much he would have let him ramble on and on, and he would have enjoyed it. But he does, and so he can't do anything but catch Mitch's wandering hand and entwine their fingers. Lean in and kiss him before he can continue. Keep their lips locked until Mitch's mouth goes lax against his and he replies tentatively.

Auston only stops when he can feel Mitch’s smile.

"They loved Ari. They loved you. Honestly, how can you even doubt it? How are you suddenly so insecure? Since when do you care so much what people think of you?"

Mitch shrugs. 

"They are not _people_ … they are your _family_. Their opinion about me could change everything." 

"Well, it didn't, and I don't think I would ever fall in love with someone they wouldn't like. And I'm also not so easy to impress that I'd cave because of them. But yes, they liked you. Bree told me that she'd break both of my legs if I ever hurt you and Alex said I should pass her number to you if you're sick of me." Auston laughs and presses their joined hands against his face. "I mean… why does everyone assume that I'm going to be the one who hurts you?" 

For a second Mitch looks serious, then he shakes his head, shakes off whatever dark thoughts he has on his mind and slides closer until they are only inches apart. Until Auston could probably count his lashes if he weren't so preoccupied and bewitched; Mitch's eyes are too beautiful to not be distracted by them. 

"Because you will. You will hurt me, just like—just like I'll hurt you," he shrugs again, maybe to ease the gravity of his words, the matter-of-fact way he said them. As if he's sure that it will happen, as if he's prepared for it to happen. 

But that doesn't change that it's more painful than any of the jibes and jokes which with his sisters teased him. 

"I won't." Auston shakes his head; repeats his words. Because he won't. He can't imagine it—it's actually the last thing on his mind. The idea alone is unreal. "I won't _ever_ hurt you." 

Maybe he's dazed from the last hour they made love, from their togetherness. Maybe he's delusional. Or maybe he's still drunker than he thought since Mitch just looks amused, lenient and chiding; the way he looks at Ariella when she tries to reason with him about staying up past bedtime or getting another slice of cake. It sits wrong with Auston; makes him feel childish and silly even though he knows that Mitch is so much older than him when it comes to real-life experiences, while Auston was brought up in a secluded and protected environment of a family that mostly centred around him. 

"You can't promise that, Aus… _I_ can't promise that. We're… different people. We have different opinions and feelings. There's no way that we won't hurt each other. But that's okay, that's how things work." 

"I don't like it." 

"Me neither, but it will happen. Because we… love each other. Because that also means we're able to hurt each other so much more." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m on [ **tumblr** ](https://miss-malheur.tumblr.com/). Come and chat, or check out my tag for this story with inspirational pics and stuff.  
> As I said before a lot of the scenes with Ari are inspired by moments I really experienced while I was a nanny. I don't have kids myself, but I hope I did her justice. I also hope I did all of Auston's family member justice. I'm usually not good at writing other characters except my main ship. But I tried.   
> Comments always make my day, even if I'm bad at replying right away.   
> Thanks for taking the time and reading this ♥


	8. Chapter 8

It's too early when Ariella wakes them both; when she climbs onto their bed and shimmies her way between them even though there's barely space for even her small body. She wriggles and flinches and pats at their faces until they both have to give up any pretense of sleep and open their eyes. 

Just for a second, because Mitch shuts them again when he realizes that Ari hasn't noticed, fakes being asleep with an amused twitch in the corner of his mouth as if he wants to signal that she is totally Auston's duty for today. A clue Auston didn't need because he remembers his promise. 

So he jabs his index finger into her belly, tickles her in the exact same spots that work on Mitch to get her to giggle and flinch; it gets her attention and her thin arms curl around his neck. 

"I'm so hungry! I need churros." She sighs dramatically. 

It takes every ounce of sternness Auston has in him to not laugh out loud—because she is totally Mitch's daughter and because he can totally see the conflict on Mitch's face the second she mentions the dessert. 

"So… should we allow your dad to sleep a bit more while we get breakfast ready? And yes, there will be churros, but you also have to have something healthy." 

"Fiiine, " she drags out the word as if it's really a hassle to eat her veggies. Contrary to Mitch, it isn't, because Dylan's and Connor's efforts have not been lost on her and she actually eats them without complaints. Mitch only eats them because he doesn't want to set a bad example for his daughter. 

Together they climb out of bed and start preparing breakfast. Mostly it's Auston who does the work while Ari sits on the counter next to the stove and gives thumbs up or down to whatever Auston pulls out of the fridge, carefully balancing her mug of milk. She's still wearing the dress from yesterday so Auston only intervenes when she tries to wipe her hands on the front. 

He's still often lost when it comes to telling her off, only does it when he's sure that Mitch wouldn't tolerate something—just like he's unsure of what she's allowed to do; although that is easier because there isn't much Mitch thinks she's not capable of doing. So he tries to do the same, even when it's something she's maybe still too young to do, when he sees that she's struggling. He encourages her clumsy attempts to stir the scrambled eggs or set the table while he texts his sisters that they are awake and expecting them for breakfast. 

The eggs end up a bit dry and burned and Mitch has an additional fork instead of a knife, but mostly their breakfast is a success. 

Leaving the house on time so that Mitch isn't overly late for his practice is less successful and a lot more stressful. Everybody is running around, Auston tackles the mess in the kitchen area while Mitch packs everything they’ll need for a day at the pool as well as his own stuff, while Alex and Bree serve as judges for the outfits Ari models for them. 

The apartment probably looks worse than ever, but Auston only plants a short kiss on Mitch's cheek, tells him to not worry about it since the housekeeper will come later anyway. Then they part in the driveway; Auston and the girls heading to the water park while Mitch takes Alex's car to the skate park. 

It becomes their routine for the next five days. It's Scottsdale in July, so there isn't really much to do with a six-year-old apart from hanging out at the pool. Mitch usually joins them late in the afternoon for an hour or two, sometimes happy, sometimes less so, depending on how his practice went. Sometimes he's so tired he just crashes on their rental canopy daybed by the pool and falls asleep, still in his dusty clothes and not even the prospect of pineapple sorbet or chocolate soft serve excites him enough to stay awake. 

If it's just Ari; Mitch and Auston, she crawls up next to her father and cuddles against his chest for a quick nap while Auston spreads out on the lounge chair next to them and catches up with some of his friends and teammates via text, before he eventually falls asleep, too. Who would have thought that looking after just one kid would be so exhausting? His respect for his mama skyrockets even more. 

If Alex and Bree or his mama are with them, someone usually coaxes Ari into coming with them to the pool, leaving Auston behind with Mitch where he either sits on the daybed as well, not touching, never touching—just relaxing in a way that can’t draw attention or suspicion upon them—for a by-passer it would probably look like he's playing around on his phone, but the hand hidden from their eyes is brushing against the naked skin of Mitch's shin and his eyes stroll more often to Mitch's sleeping face than they stay on the screen. 

But sometimes Mitch is jumpy and bursting with energy, smiling so brightly when he appears at the side of the pool, cap turned backwards and already in swimming trunks, waiting eagerly for Ari to paddle over to him with clumsy, yet fast, strokes, trying so hard to keep her head above the surface until she gives up and settles for diving because getting to her father is more important than breathing. Auston should be used to that, knows that she's actually capable of holding her breath for an astonishingly long time but he still worries and stays close to her, always counting the seconds until she breaks the surface again, ready to pull her up if she doesn't appear after he reaches twelve. 

He probably ages a decade every time it happens and only exhales in relief when she's either safe in Mitch's arms or his own. Then he usually watches them play for some time - both lost in their own world and catching up on their days - before he walks back to their rented seating area and orders food for them and endures his sisters teasing. 

Auston knows from regular updates that Willy is road tripping through France and Spain, that Zach is honeymooning his way through Asia and Freddie is yogaing in Nepal. And one year ago he had thought he would celebrate the offseason after winning the cup either in the Caribbean or on a tropical island in the Southern Pacific. Would have laughed if someone had told him that things never turn out the way one expects. 

So he guesses he deserves all the teasing he gets whenever he sends them pictures from a local Scottsdale pool. Besides Willy, no one knows who he is spending his time with; they all probably suspect it's a pretty girl who has him wrapped around her finger. 

They are not entirely wrong. And yet, they totally are. 

__

It's Bree who sends him the link. 

They’re hanging out on the patio after Mitch has put Ari to sleep and finished his daily FaceTime with Mac and his trainer in Toronto. 

Auston has a perfectly nice tv system inside, but of course, Mitch insisted on staying outside instead ‘because it's so nice and warm, Auston’. Warm being the understatement of the year because it's still almost a hundred degrees. 

So Auston has set up his laptop to watch one of the million movies in his queue but neither of them is really paying attention. Mitch is wrapped around him; keyed up and worried because his practice didn’t go well, and Auston is distracted by Mitch's warm body, by the flies that keep bumping against the lamp above the table. 

When his phone dings with an incoming message he picks it up, giving up all pretense of watching.

B: _You should see this. -_

It's cryptic and totally neutral so Auston opens the link. And freezes. It's a tweet with a picture. It's a tweet that was already retweeted about three thousand times and liked about twice that amount. 

"Aus… what's—?" 

Wordlessly Auston turns the screen so that Mitch can see it, too. So that he can feel the sharp inhale the moment Mitch realizes what exactly it is that he's seeing. 

"Fuck," he curses. 

Fuck. _Indeed_. 

The picture shows Auston with Ariella, both only in swimming clothes, both completely absorbed with their ice cream cones, both smiling so wide at each other that Auston feels almost attacked because he still clearly remembers how he felt when the photo must have been taken. Remembers how Ari sighed happily and declared this to be the best vacation ever. How she held up her chocolate ice cream so that Auston could try it, and then accidentally hit him right to the nose with it. How she reached for his hand after and led him back to their spot. Remembers how he almost wished that someone would take a picture of the moment—so he could send it to Mitch, so that he could keep it in his folder because she was totally right. 

It has been the best vacation ever. 

_'We have no idea who this young lady is but she's clearly captured Auston Matthews' heart. At least that's what it looks like because we've never seen him smile like this. Not even when he finally lifted Lord Stanley 4 weeks ago.'_

Bree's next message rips them both out of their thoughts. 

B: _It's a fucking cute picture. -_

It is, but that's not the point. Because she sends him the link to some twitter debates that he just skims over without really reading them. It's mostly harmless… people speculating about who Ari is, but they mostly agree on that she's probably a distant cousin of Auston, because of their same complexion and hair colour. There are some wild assumptions about Auston hiding a daughter for five years, but they were apparently too ridiculous even for twitter. 

Still, his heart throbs heavily in his chest when he drops the phone and looks at Mitch. Mitch who's chewing on his lower lip, pale and wide-eyed. 

When Auston reaches for him his hand is icy cold and he doesn't return the gesture; leaves his hand limp and lifeless inside Auston's grasp. 

"They didn't even black out her face:" 

"I know…" For a second Auston feels dumb, because he didn't even think about that. But Mitch is right; that's his _daughter_ , her face plastered all over the internet—just because she has been with Auston, just because someone thought it would make a good story. 

"I can get it taken down. I, I'll call my agent and he—"

"Don't be silly." Mitch laughs but it sounds strained, forced. Just like the smile he gives Auston when he meets his eyes. "That'll only make it worse. I mean—I don't have any experience with this, clearly, but I guess it'll blow over?" 

Auston nods, more because he hopes that's how it'll work. Not because he's sure—but he can't show that to Mitch. He brushes his thumb over the back of Mitch's hand, silently begs him to smile for real. 

"Maybe it's a good thing that Ella got Penny's genes." Mitch snickers; it sounds a bit crazy, "Imagine how this would have gone down if she was pale like me and had my light hair."

Against his will, Auston has to laugh. Trust Mitch to light up the situation even when he's totally not in the mood for it. But it's only when he finally turns his hand around and entwines it with his that Auston really starts to relax a bit. 

"She'd be just as amazing. And no one would ever joke that she’s not your daughter." 

The words are out of his mouth without him realizing that they have been on his mind. But it's the truth. And it makes Mitch smile—for real. So it's definitely worth it. 

"It really is a damn cute picture, I would totally make it my home screen if it wasn’t so blurry. The chocolate smear really brings out the colour of your eyes." 

__

"Can we maybe stay at home tonight?" Mitch leans over the armrest to hand Ari a bottle of water. She already looks about to pass out after another day at the pool, and Mitch is desperate to not let her fall asleep. 

Mostly because she's super cranky when they have to wake her up mid-nap, but the alternative is letting her sleep in the car until she wakes up and then having her not going to bed until it's super late. Auston doesn't like either option—he feels selfish, but Mitch is leaving in two days and he would rather spend some time alone with him on the couch and not playing tea party with Ari until 11 pm. 

Of course, he doesn't say that. Although he thinks ~~hopes~~ that Mitch agrees with him. 

"We're always staying home," Auston replies. It's not like they are partying every night or hanging out with his friends for drinks or rooftop golf like he would usually do if he were alone. He doesn't mind, only minds kind of lying to them or postponing their invitation until next week. 

"No, I meant, can we have dinner at your place and not go to your mom's?" From the corner of his eye, he can see that Mitch is biting his lower lip. 

Auston frowns. He already told Alex and Bree that they would just drop off the bags from the pool, change quickly and then meet them there. He's also pretty sure that his mama counted on them having dinner together the way they have done so for almost every day of the past week. 

"Sure… it's, I mean, it's no problem. We have nothing left for dinner, but we could order in or pick something up on the way home?" 

"Both sounds good, thanks." Mitch doesn't stop worrying his lip and Auston wants to reach over and stop him. He doesn't. Instead, he cranks the music a bit louder and raises his voice a bit. "Ari, how about Disney songs?" 

She squeals and claps her hands, although it looks way less enthusiastic than usual. 

"Okay, let's put on some Mulan." He searches for the tracks, he quickly gives Mitch a questioning look while he turns ‘I'll make a man out of you’ up. 

"I think ordering in would be better… El is super tired. What did you guys do with her?" 

Normally Auston would answer the question and think nothing about it, but he has learned to read Mitch's methods of deflection by now; and this is a classic. 

"Mitch?" He raises his eyebrows. "Did something happen at the park? Are you hurt or something?" 

It was the first time Mitch didn't join them in the pool, texted him that he would just be waiting outside of the water park to pick them up. But when Auston looks closer at him he seems fine, at least he can't see anything, neither bandages or any more than the usual bruises. There’s a smear of dust on his chin and the crease of his helmet is a red line on his forehead. Otherwise, he looks totally fine. 

"No," he shakes his head. "It's fine… I'll—Can I explain later?" 

"Daddy, I'm really hungry. But we don't have snacks anymore." 

"Really? You ate everything Mama Matthews made for you?" Mitch grins widely; he loves to call Auston's mama that, loves how charmed she is every time. 

"Auston helped a lot. He ate almost all the sandwiches." 

"He did? And he left nothing for you?"

"I didn't." Auston protests then turns around to Ari. " _Traitor_." 

"So you didn't eat anything the whole day? Oh my god, you must be starving!" It's obvious that Mitch doesn't believe that at all. "Let’s hurry home so that we can get some food in you. This is clearly an emergency." He actually presses down the gas pedal so that the car almost jumps forward and Ariella giggles. 

"You're so silly, daddy. Of course not. I had ice-cream and waffles and fries and then some fruits too, because Auston is boring like you and said I have to eat something healthy."

"Pheww, I'm glad. You know for a second, I was really afraid that I had to stop at McDonald's so that you don't die on the way home. But since you actually already had a lot of junk food today that's totally unnecessary."

"Nooo, I want a happy meal, daddy. Did you know they have minion toys?"

"Really?! They do? I mean not that we've already been there three times this week because of those." Mitch's grin is so wide and blinding that Auston almost completely forgets about the weirdness from before. Almost. But he dutifully sends a text to the family chat, telling them that they won't join them for dinner tonight. He pockets the phone right away and doesn't wait for their replies. 

"I don't think it's smart to get more minions. Think about how we'll have to carry all these and your other new toys back to Toronto! And with 'we' I mean 'you'." 

For a few moments she seems to actually contemplate that, but then her face brightens again. "We'll just have to put them in your backpack, Daddy."

Auston smirks at Mitch, makes sure that he sees. Being outsmarted by his daughter like a beginner. He loves it and doesn't bother to hide his glee. 

"But there'll be no space in my backpack since I'm already carrying all your new clothes that Auston got you." Mitch gives him a stern sideways glance that he probably thinks is impressive but that doesn't in fact impress Auston at all. It got old after the first day he bought Ari the little sun-dress with watermelons. 

(If Mitch doesn't allow Auston to spoil _him_ he can at least spoil his daughter.) 

"Maybe Auston wants McDonald's?" 

Auston has listened to enough of these little discussions to know that Ari isn't actually that keen on either the toys or McDonald's, that she's just enjoying these little banters as much as Mitch, and that she's as stubborn as him. It's not the first time Auston wishes he could record them but then he's always too busy to smile to remember it. 

"I don't think Auston wants any more junk food today, sweetie, since he probably also ate all the fries and ice cream and waffles." Mitch crooks his head, smiles innocently. Or it would have been innocent if it weren't for the teasing gleam in his eyes. 

"Hey!" Auston protests, but then decides to let it drop—for now. 

"Okay, Ari, no Happy Meal, but what about some tacos? We can order a package so you can make your own." 

She claps excitedly, and beams at him before stretching in her seat for a fist bump. Because even she knows already how much her father despises cilantro. 

Auston loves her. 

__

"Why are your sisters blowing up our group chat?"

Mitch picks up his phone from the counter and refills his water glass before leaning against the fridge and scrolling through the messages while Auston finishes cleaning the kitchen. Most of the plates are already in the dishwasher, and the leftovers are in the fridge. 

"Uh?" 

Auston has no idea what Mitch is talking about. Then he realizes what Mitch has said.

"You're in a group chat with my sisters?" Auston wonders why he's even surprised. Especially since Bree and Mitch get on like a house on fire. And it's not like he minds—not at all. But he suddenly realizes that all the times he teased his little sister the last couple of days about grinning at her phone like a cat that got the cream she was probably texting Mitch and not a mysterious boyfriend. That this is probably worse than Willy meeting Mitch at the party after the parade. 

(Probably, at least he knows Mitch is on _his_ side. But he should make sure that Willy never ever talks to his baby sister again.) 

"Hm, yeah? Didn't you—?" Mitch stops mid-sentence and lowers his phone. "Is this okay? I thought... that's why I didn't ask."

"Of course it's fucking okay." Finally, Auston drops the towel with which he has been wiping the crumbs into the sink and steps over to Mitch; stands right in front of him and carefully tugs the phone from his hands so that Mitch is forced to look up at him. The smile he discovers is amused, but there's also something about it that tells Auston it's not entirely real: it doesn't reach Mitch's eyes. 

"Mitch… tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing! There's nothing… I mean, why would you think there is?" 

"Because I can see it." Auston brings his hands around Mitch's face, makes it impossible for him to lower his head or to turn away; to look anywhere but him. "You seem to forget that I know you a little bit by now." 

He chuckles—not because he's in the mood for it, more because Mitch is cute if he thought that Auston wouldn't really notice. 

"You're not hurt, your practice went well… and there's nothing wrong with Ari apart from having eaten too much crap—and don't tell me you're mad about that, because you aren't. So why didn't you want to have dinner with my family? I thought you liked them?" 

"I do, Aus, I really do. It's not… It doesn't have anything to do with your family." Mitch shakes his head slowly and rubs his cheek into Auston's palm. It's impossible not to be reminded of a little kitten. But instead of just being cute and adorable it also reminds him of the forlornness and helplessness of a lost puppy and Mitch looking sad or in need of comfort… Auston can't stop himself from being even more worried, from leaning in closer so that Mitch can hide against his neck. 

Maybe it's easier for him if he doesn't have to look into Auston's eyes. Maybe it's grounding him when he can breathe in Auston's scent because Auston feels the muscles of Mitch's back relax, hears him exhale with barely controlled heaves while he winds his arms and legs around Auston. It should have felt sexual, a replay of the many times their lovemaking started like this. And yet it's anything but that. 

It's intimate and settling. For both of them. Just like the little kisses Auston whispers against Mitch's neck, with his nose buried in Mitch's hair. 

"Your family is… amazing. Even your dad, although you can tell that he's still having some doubts about me, and about our relationship. No, it's—okay, really. They are all so nice and welcoming and so incredibly sweet to me. It was just, I mean, it's been a lot those last couple of days." 

"They can be a bit overwhelming, I know. I’ve heard that before." 

"No, that's not—or maybe it is, but it's not their fault. It's mine." 

"Mitch…"

Auston is lost for words and so he just holds onto Mitch, continues the caresses even though he's not sure if he's doing it for him or for Mitch. 

"I never had someone—you know? Someone care about me so much, supporting and accepting me so effortlessly after such a short time. I've never had that before and suddenly I realized that I missed this… that I missed and longed for something I've never gotten from my parents. It's—pathetic, I know… I've been without them for such a long time and they've never been like this. I didn't know that I still craved this."

Mitch's words are quiet and calm, but Auston doesn't know if that makes them even worse. 

"I'm sorry. If I'd known that, I'd have never—" 

"You couldn't, and even if you did? What would you have done? Told your mom to be not so caring, not so warm-hearted and kind? Aus, this isn't your fault. I didn't mind going over for dinner or spending so much time with your family. _Not at all_. I loved it. And I won't mind it in the future. Okay?" 

Auston nods, tries to believe it, to push the feeling of unease down, the feeling of guilt. Mitch is right; he couldn't have known. 

"I just… I can't believe that your parents treated you like this, that they cut you out when you needed them the most with a little baby and all. I mean, I can understand that they weren't happy about you becoming a father so young, but throwing you out… not helping you? Not wanting to help their son with their granddaughter? Who does this?"

Suddenly Mitch loosens his grip and sits more upright. His hand is still tangled in the curls of Auston's nape but the movement has stopped and he waits until Auston raises his head and looks at him before he fully lets go of him, only keeping his legs wound around Auston's waist. 

"My parents didn't throw me out. They—why do you think they did?"

"Because you—because you said that they weren't in the picture anymore? I mean, you don't see them anymore? Or…?" Auston is so confused now, has to actually shake his head. This is everything he believed in since Mitch told him about Ariella; the reason he never mentioned Mitch's parents… the reason he never asked. The reason he started to despise Mitch's parents without even knowing them. 

"No. No, you're right. I don't see them anymore. But not because of Ariella. She came along long after that." 

"I'm—but... “ Now he understands. “That's what Dylan meant, right?" 

"I have no idea what Dylan meant." Mitch chuckles; and Auston would take his amusement over his sadness anytime—except that a part of him feels betrayed, feels played. Feels like whenever he asks the right questions he reveals something new and ground-shaking about Mitch that he would have never learned otherwise. 

As if Mitch is still keeping so much from him. Too much. As if Mitch doesn't trust him with his past and the whole of his heart. 

"He said something to me when we had breakfast one morning. After you've already left with Ari. Something about you having a lot of baggage but Ari being none of it." 

Auston still clearly remembers that day. How the pale winter morning shone into the colourful kitchen, painted everything with soft light and shadows… The empty mugs that everybody left in the sink, the stack of pancakes cooling down on the stove, the clumsy drawings attached to the fridge. How he leaned against the counter—barefoot and exhausted, yet relaxed, watching Dylan spreading out his books and pens and markers on the kitchen table. How the scent of coffee and burned butter and wax crayons made him feel more at ease than his own pristine condo. 

It's hard to disentangle himself from the image in his head, from the safety of the memory. From the illusion it created. Because he's almost scared that the reality of the present will be a lot more confusing and disturbing. 

"He said that?"

"He was right, wasn't he?"

"It's Dylan, he's always right, even when he's wrong." 

Mitch's laugh isn't enough to fool him. But it's also not enough for Auston to not want to comfort him, to not want more. 

"Mitch…" 

"I had to… but I didn't know that it would still hurt. So yes, Dylan was right, when I thought all the years that he wasn't. When I told myself that I don't need them in my life." 

This is such a Mitch thing to say—yet this time it feels like Auston is closer than ever to figure out why it's so hard for Mitch to trust other people, to _really_ do so and rely on them. It's so tempting to let himself be fooled by Mitch's openness, by his honesty and happiness, by his easy-going personality and optimistic spirit. But there has always been a part of him that he would keep to himself, that didn't trust someone else, wasn't able to no matter how much Mitch wanted it. 

It all makes sense now. 

"They’re your parents; of course it still hurts." 

"It shouldn't. Not after I left them. Not after my father made me leave." 

Auston tightens his grip around Mitch's waist, slides his thumb under the fabric of Mitch's shirt and brushes over the patch of skin he finds there. He tries to be patient, knows that he has to be. Because he has earned Mitch's trust—maybe everything there is to have. But pushing Mitch, asking the millions of questions he has and voicing his opinions or pitying him… It would only make Mitch close up. 

It's not how Auston is. And it's not how they are. 

So he just holds on, stays close to Mitch; doesn't stop him from lowering his eyes, because if that's what Mitch needs right now, Auston will give it to him. 

(There's not much he wouldn't give to Mitch anyway.)

"It was about hockey… or more like me choosing skateboarding over hockey. You know, my father always had these dreams about me becoming good, really good. Becoming good enough to play professionally, in the NHL… his famous, glorious son or whatever. Maybe it was because I was actually pretty talented? Or maybe because it was something he wanted for himself. Or because he felt it was his rightful reward after driving me around for practices and games all the time, buying all the expensive equipment. But he was on me all the time, pushing me, yelling at me, blaming me when my team lost. When I was a little kid I didn't mind that much, I mean—I hated it, hated how he talked to me, how he lost interest in everything that wasn't my hockey, how he punished me whenever I didn't play well, whenever I made mistakes… It was so hard to please him, and with every game, it got harder and harder until I started to fear them. But I always thought that’s how it’s supposed to be. Until I noticed that the other kids' fathers weren't like that." 

Mitch's voice is quiet, almost flat and emotionless; as if he's talking about someone else, some distant person he doesn't really know. And Auston realizes that this is his way to deal with pain. That he buries these feelings and memories so deep and so effectively that he can completely forget about them until someone reminds him of them. 

His legs are still around Auston's waist, the only point of contact between them if it weren't for Auston's hands around his hips… until Mitch starts to play with the seam of the shirt Auston is wearing. It's strangely hypnotic to watch. 

"I've tried to tell myself that he wanted the best for me… with all the stuff that he did. That this was the reason my mom never told him to ease it up. But then I met Dylan and I realized, no, it wasn't _normal_ , I mean, or just for my own good. My talent was the only thing he saw, the only thing he loved about me. Sometimes I wished I didn't have it. Maybe then he would've loved me for the person I was." 

Auston swallows. The way Mitch sounds so detached, so cold and emotionless is making it hard to speak. He feels helpless; almost wishes Mitch would cry. That he could handle; he could wipe away the tears with his fingertips and kiss the hot skin of Mitch’s eyes. Pull him in and comfort him. But Mitch doesn’t cry. "What… stuff?"

(It's almost like he's feeling everything that Mitch isn't.) 

Mitch shrugs. 

"Setting the clock for me every morning for a run. Forcing me to lift weights every night while he dissected my plays for me. Measuring and weighing me every week… shouting in frustration every time when I didn't meet his expectations. I mean—it's not like I had any influence on my growth. He wanted me to be this strong powerful player, a goal scorer, someone who doesn't pass the puck for others to score. But I wasn't… I was fast and small, better to set up plays, and scared to take a shot, especially when someone else had a better chance." 

Auston remembers Naz’s words about Mitch, remembers reading his stats, remembers the few Youtube clips that he had watched with Willy afterwards. The pure talent and magic Mitch had created with his quick passes and dekes, the awe they had both felt because neither of them could have done the same thing at that age. 

But he shuts his mouth, doesn't say anything; it has been so hard to get Mitch to open up about this. 

"On the ride home after a loss, he wouldn’t look at me, only stared at the road while he blamed me for all the mistakes I made… then he sent me to the weight room or made me run 5 miles while he followed me in the car. Only then was I allowed to have dinner and sleep. But even after a win, or after I had a good game, he still found ways to criticize me. It was… well, it wasn't fun." Mitch snorts. "I loved hockey, I still do. But he made me dread it, made me hate playing." 

Auston didn't realize that he had tightened his grip around Mitch's hips. Didn't realize until now as Mitch is softly prying them away and winding his own between them; they feel stiff and crampy when he complies, making him aware that he must have clenched them for quite a while. But he couldn't help it, had to literally hold onto something because otherwise, he would have probably lost his temper and all his manners over Mitch's story. About the image of the twelve-year-old Mitch from the Youtube clips being forced to run in front of his father’s car after he played a full hockey game. About the idea that someone would punish this insanely talented kid for not growing fast enough. About the heartbreak that someone would kill the love and passion his own son felt for a sport by oppressing him with his own egoism. 

"Your mom?" He barely manages to say, not even sure if he's ready for the answer.

Mitch shakes his head. 

"I'm not sure how much she even knew or when she just decided to close her eyes. Maybe she was afraid of him—like I was. I couldn't blame her. She tried… Brought me sweets when my dad forbade them, cuddled me after losses late at night in my room, intervened or distracted him when I was dead on my legs after a game. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough. Neither her encouragement nor her treats."

Their hands are still entwined, still between them; both of them staring down at them—as if they mean something. As if their togetherness is enough to keep Mitch's memories and Auston's emotions at bay. 

"I started skateboarding maybe out of spite… I knew it would piss him off. But I didn't know that I would find something that challenges me in the best way. That I could feel like flying again. I didn't know that it would make me happy again. And make me brave enough to face him." 

"You told him and he threw you out?" 

"He told me that as long as I was still living under his roof I'd have to do what he says and play hockey. I was fourteen and had just won my first street tournament… I had nothing to lose and everything to win. So I laughed into his face and packed my stuff. I never looked back." 

"You're crazy." 

"Maybe," for the first time since he started, Mitch looks up at Auston and smiles. It's small and sadder than anything, but it's also better than anything. Especially when Mitch playfully wriggles his fingers as if he wants to pull them away and Auston quickly holds onto them, closes his hands so that Mitch can't. Because it really makes him smile. Still not _really_ happy, but better. 

An unhappy Mitch goes against nature, and Auston would do anything to not see it again. 

"But mostly I think I was desperate and disappointed. The people who were supposed to love me the most… didn't. And I didn't realize that until I met your family. There was always a part of me that—" Mitch shakes his head. "… that thought that it was my fault. No matter how often Dylan or his mom or Mac told me that it wasn't." 

"You haven't seen them ever since?"

A nod, then a quick headshake. 

"I saw my dad once when he came to 'Sauga to get me; probably because my mom told him to. At least I assume that's been his intention. But when he spotted me and Dylan kissing on the porch he didn't even get out of his car and just drove on." Now Mitch actually chuckles; little wrinkles around his eyes, mischief dancing in them. 

It dampens the blow—the punch into Auston's stomach at this casually dropped sentence. The admission that finally confirmed all his assumptions, that answered another question he hasn't dared to ask yet. Probably because he knew instinctively that it could hurt. 

But he didn't know how much. 

~~So much~~. 

Although he's not sure what it is that is more painful: the actual confirmation or that Mitch never deemed it important for him to know. 

He doesn't get a chance to grasp this thought or explore it even, because Mitch is talking again. Not with the same amusement as before, not even close—it's gone again like someone switched off the light and the only thing that Auston can do is chase it as he releases Mitch's hands and places his right one around his face, thumb brushing over the remains of his laugh lines. Reminding himself that the past is nothing they should dwell upon; not even when it's exactly what they are doing right at this moment. Thinking of the things that matter. 

Them. Now. Tomorrow. 

"I texted my mom after El's birth because I thought that's something she would want to know. But… I don't see her more than once or twice a year. I—I can't forgive her for not standing up to him. She loves El, always gives us knitted socks or scarves, asks hundreds of questions that bring her to tears when I answer them honestly. But I can't lie. I can't withhold how thankful I'm about the way my life turned out after I walked away from them. How much better." Mitch's voice stutters, almost breaks at the end; and his gaze flickers. 

If it weren't for Auston's gentle grasp around his face, he would have looked away again. But Auston doesn't let go, doesn't allow him to withdraw. And so he can watch the regret, the sadness creep back into Mitch's eyes. 

"I didn't realize how much I missed her—or not her maybe? But the mom she could've been, _should've_ been? Your mom made me feel like a kid again, like the kid I never was." 

If it weren't for Auston's hands around his face, he would have missed everything again… But it's the reason he didn't let go, didn't allow Mitch to escape. So he can watch it; every single twisted emotion. Shame, hurt, fear, relief, and pure thankfulness. 

It's breathtaking to witness because Mitch is the most expressive person he's ever met.

It's breathtaking because Mitch is strong and also vulnerable. 

It's breathtaking because Mitch is sharp as glass and just as breakable.

Because he makes Auston feel these things, too. Because Auston loves him. 

And if they had this conversation two or three months before, Auston would have kissed him. Would have picked Mitch up and carried him over to the couch or the bed. Would have held him and pressed more kisses onto his cheeks and neck that would have turned into something different; something more heated and urgent and then into sex. Because he didn't know how it would feel to just be with him, how much deeper and intimate it could be to take care of his soul and not only distract him. 

He didn't know then that he loved him and that Mitch loved him back. 

So now he doesn't kiss him. Doesn't pick him up and carry him away. 

They stay right where they are—standing in the kitchen, holding hands. Auston between Mitch's spread thighs that feel warm and secure around him while Mitch tells him more. Little stories and memories; some that aren't as sad as the ones before, and some that are even sadder. 

But all of them bring them closer. 

__

Later that night Auston wakes up, warm and sweaty; squeezed between Ari who is cuddled against his left side and Mitch who is draped around his middle with his head on his lower stomach. It's stuffy and he kicks down the blanket as good as he can, thinks about getting up and lowering the temperature of the air con, but decides against it. He knows both Mitch and Ari sleep like the dead… so it's not like he would wake them up, but the idea of disturbing them, losing the closeness sits wrong with him. 

It's not easy falling asleep again and he doesn't know how long he just lies in the dark and stares at the ceiling or out of the window. Watches the occasional headlights from a passing car cut through the darkness and paint streams of white onto the wall. Mitch's breath tickles his skin and just the idea of how intimate their position is stirs something inside him for a few seconds. How vulnerable and lost Mitch's gesture seems to be—as if he's seeking protection from Auston, closeness. Something he rarely does when he’s conscious. 

Auston carefully brushes his fingers through the soft mop of hair; it has gotten almost ridiculously long, and he knows that Mitch only allows Alex to cut a few centimetres at a time because Auston loves to play with it. He wonders how it's possible for Mitch to be so kind and open and loving, after everything that happened. 

A part of him still wants to take Mitch and bring him somewhere safe, somewhere secure. He can't help it. 

Auston knows that Mitch doesn't need to be saved, that he's maybe the strongest person he's ever gotten to know and what he told Auston this evening only proved this further. 

Mitch Marner can save and protect himself; he's been fighting his own battles since he was fourteen. 

But Auston doesn't want him to. 

Auston wants to be the one that Mitch comes to for help, for support, for courage. 

And the fact that Mitch hid this so long from him scares him, makes it obvious that he still doesn't count on Auston for that. That he still might not trust their future. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry... it's all fluff again.  
> But I still love it.  
> Please be kind, it's my favourite chapter.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really really sorry for making you wait! Work has just been a little busy lately. But I hope this chapter makes up for the late update.  
> I'm also sorry that I haven't replied to comments yet... but I have read them and hugged them and then read them again because I can't believe that you said so many nice things about my story. They really give me courage when I doubt my writing. ♥

Auston has just arrived at his car and Mitch's plane probably hasn't even taken off when he gets a text from Bree. 

At least this time she's kind enough to warn him ahead. It still doesn't prepare him fully for what he finds when he opens the link and stares at the picture, reads the caption. 

It’s blurry but it's them, without a doubt. Mitch and Ari and him, walking through the long sun-filled hallway of Phoenix' airport. Mitch with his snapback turned backwards and carrying a huge bag from the Disney store. Ari between them both, looking up at her dad and adjusting the straps of her little backpack, wearing the white floral dress that Auston's mama bought for her. And then just as unmistakable, Auston. Tie-dyed shirt and slippers, unshaved and relaxed, walking alongside them with his left hand on Ari's back, the other one holding his phone and Mitch's wrecked old Osprey. 

"Spotted at PHX: our favourite Stanley cup winner with the young lady who caused much speculation 3 days ago. We can confirm: she's not a distant cousin's child unless Matthews is related to Canadian skateboard darling Mitch Marner. Hint: we doubt it. 

Auston doesn't know what's worse: how he's touching Ari in a way that looks familiar and caring—probably even to a stranger. Or the fact that he's completely oblivious to anything around them, all his attention on Mitch and his little girl. 

Hell, he didn't even notice that they had been photographed, hadn't even considered anything like this could happen, although he should have after the first picture. 

He's stupid. So stupid. 

' _fuck_ ' he texts her back. 

Because he _is_ fucked. 

And the only person he wants to talk to right now is on a plane and unreachable for the next 6 hours. 

__

He drives home. It’s not yet noon, and his parents would both still be at work. 

But going to his place is not an option. Not even if this clusterfuck didn't happen. He just can't imagine being there, seeing the guest room empty, bare of any toys and the bedroom with the rumpled sheets and the pillow with the impression of Mitch's head and his scent. 

Everything had been fine this morning; casual jokes and banter, Auston making pancakes and keeping Ari busy while Mitch scuttled around the apartment and packed the last couple of items, crammed them into his backpack and cursing at Auston about buying so much for his daughter. 

They’d had their last kiss in the hallway, deep and thorough and ending way too soon; a last little peck in the parking lot of the airport: quick and hurried, because everyone could see. 

Their last hug was short, bro-like, and unusual. The one Ari gave him was longer and teary, sniffling wet against his neck. 

Watching them walking through security and finally out of sight with a last wave. 

It felt like cutting off a piece of his heart: painful and impossible. 

Auston knew that this moment would come, but he didn't know how little he would be ready for it. Didn't know how much he would never want to experience it again. 

In the cool hallway of his parents’ house, he leans against the door and breathes. 

Breathes in the familiarity and warmth of his childhood, of his life before Mitch. It's the only thing that can comfort him now. 

But there is no time for that. Not with the picture spreading over the internet with every passing second. Not with his phone blowing up with incoming texts and calls. 

He ignores all of them except Willy's. 

W: _dude, wtf?!_ \- 

A: _I know right_ -

W: _it's a fucking cute picture, don't get me wrong, but dude, there's no way you can explain that or make it go away_. - 

Auston snorts. Of course, it's fucking cute, it's Mitch and Ari. Then he presses the call button. Willy picks up on the second ring as if he has been waiting for Auston's call (or more likely browsing Twitter to serve Auston the best rumours and speculations because he lives to be a pain in Auston's ass). 

"What do you mean? What can’t I explain?"

" _Oh hello, Auston, nice of you to call me. Thank you, I'm doing good_." 

"Yeah, whatever, just tell me."

"Christ, can you be more impatient?" But Willy sounds more amused than actually annoyed. "I was just saying that the pic is really fucking obvious and I'm not sure how you'll explain it without coming out. You look like a couple."

"We _are_ a couple." 

"Yeah, _I_ know that. And now everyone who sees the picture will know it, too. Hell, forget what I said, you don't need to come out anymore, that picture did it for you."

"Don't be ridiculous, Willy, this picture is only obvious to you because you know and because you're not exactly straight."

"Ah, yeah, can always count on the short-sightedness of straight people. You could probably make out with Mitch right in front of them and they still would say it's just bros. But there will be rumours and speculation again, and they won't be as harmless as last time, or go away as quickly."

"I'm so fucked."

"Why're you talking to me about this, where's Mitch? You should be talking with him."

Auston rubs his forehead—he knows what he should do, what he wants to do. Although the longer he thinks about it the less he likes the idea of doing it. Not only because he feels so on the edge and cornered, but at the same time that he can't imagine waiting until Mitch gets to Toronto or even worse until he has finally put Ari to bed. But also because he knows what Mitch is going to say, what he'll suggest to him. 

(The logical solution. The honest one. _The right one_.)

"He'd say it's my decision, that he understands and supports whatever I do, but… I know that he would come out if he were in my place, set an example and be a role model or whatever… but I—" he cuts himself off, leans his head against the cool wood of the entrance door for a second. "I can't, Willy, I just _can't_. And I can't have people always wondering about my sexuality…"

"Too late for that, I'm afraid."

"I have to do something."

"If this is the part where you ask for my advice… wait and talk to Mitch." 

"It's my career, Willy."

"Well, it's his career, too?"

Now, for the first time, Willy sounded slightly annoyed. Auston can practically see him rolling his eyes. He flinches and casts off his slippers before walking over to the living room. The tiles underneath his feet are cool and calming, some with cracks and stains that have been there since he was a kid. The blinds are down to keep the Arizona heat out and in the warm twilight that creeps through the cracks everything looks strangely familiar and different at the same time; as if everything was asleep and waiting for the summer to pass—just like Auston waited for the summer to end and hockey to start again. 

"Mitch is out. And it's not the same. Like, no one cares about what he does."

"Did you just say that no one cares about your boyfriend?! Because I'm pretty sure that's wrong, especially now that he's representing Canada at the Olympics."

"No one cares about skateboarding… it's different. He said it by himself. He hasn't had anything to lose."

"Hm…" For a moment there's silence on Willy's end of the line, but Auston can hear the sound of crickets in the background, of wind rustling through reed and water lapping against the shore. "And what do you have to lose? I mean it's not like you have to prove anymore that you can play… you had the best season of the career, you won the Stanley cup and got nominated for all the fancy trophies. Everyone loves you. It will cause a sensation, sure, but it'll pass."

"You're joking, right? Why don't _you_ come out if you think that's all it would be?"

"I'm not in a committed relationship with a guy I love. I have nothing worth coming out for." 

"Willy… I can't. I appreciate your optimism but we both know that's not how it's going to be. It will never pass, and I will always have this label attached to me. I won't be Auston Matthews, first overall anymore, or Stanley Cup winner Auston Matthews—I'd always be the first openly gay NHL player. If I have a bad game the media will find a way to make it about me being gay. If I take a face-off there'd be chirps from other players… You know that's how it's going to be."

Water is splashing and then Willy sighs into the speaker. It's probably the only sign of agreement that Auston will get. 

No one says anything for a long time, both just breathing quietly; Willy probably chilling on a dock, not a single care in the world and maybe even dozing off, while Auston savours the calm before the storm. 

"So tell me about Sweden."

Auston almost wishes he could be there and hide. 

__

After he hangs up with Willy, Auston calls his agent and then his lawyer. 

__

Mitch doesn’t pick up his phone when Auston calls him, not even once during the four days until he flies to Japan. He doesn’t call back and his texts are purely perfunctory. 

M: _Sorry, too much going on_. -

M: _have to do laundry, ttyl_ \- 

M: _last night with el, call you later_ -

M: _oops fell asleep with her -_

And then suddenly they are sixteen hours apart and Mitch is standing at the starting line of the street course, all decked out in Canadian colours and grinning to the cameras while Auston wants to throw his mug through the tv screen. 

He feels like he's getting punished (and maybe that is exactly what Mitch is doing). Feels like he deserves this even. But he still wants to talk to Mitch so desperately that he actually considers flying there. Would have probably done it if he didn't know that it would make everything worse.

So instead he gets up in the middle of the night, or very early in the morning, and watches Mitch skate, watches him slide down handrails and jump over benches. Admires him spinning the board two times, three times in the air before landing perfectly. Always smiling, always in control and so graceful that Auston can feel his heart swell with pride and love. Tracks him while he's delivering three perfect street runs, mastering all the flips and riding the curbs faster than Auston has ever seen him and ending the last run with a mindblowing 360 before taking a little bow on his board, eyes so bright with mischief and happiness that Auston stops breathing. 

That he wants to hit something—someone. Willy because he didn't literally forbid him from doing anything before talking to Mitch. His agent because he only thought about Auston's career. But mostly himself because he should have known better; should have known Mitch and himself. 

Without thinking he grabs his phone and opens the chat with Mitch, ignores the string of unanswered texts he’s sent him over the last week. It's not enough to discourage him from trying, from saying what he really needs to say. 

A: _I'm sorry, so sorry. And I'm stupid. So stupid. That's the only excuse that I have. I know it's lousy, but I was scared. I still am. I was never scared before I've met you. Always knew what to do, always in control of my feelings and the way people perceived me. But you've changed that. You confuse me, make me laugh and feel and open up and now I can't imagine being without you. Now I'm scared because I could lose you and I couldn't handle it. I love you and I need you_. -

He doesn't beg for Mitch to call him back anymore, doesn't try to explain himself further. Doesn't promise him anything.

Mitch has every right to be mad and hurt. To take his time. 

Auston will give him that. 

__

It's in the middle of the night when his phone finally rings with the silly song Mitch set as his own personal tone. Ripping him out of his dreams like a beacon, sudden and harsh but still the best sound that he has heard in the last two weeks. 

Without hesitating, he picks up the call, blinks against the too-bright screen that shows him Mitch's face. Wide awake and with a little smile that could be guilty… but maybe that's only wishful thinking on Auston's behalf. Or maybe it's only because Mitch must be aware of the local time in Arizona. For a second he doesn't say anything, only takes in Auston's rumpled face and messy hair, then he laughs, sweet and honest just like his contact picture and almost as wide and happy as the last time Auston has seen him on tv. 

"You look cute."

Auston rolls his eyes, wants to rumple a response but ends up smiling against his own will. 

"So cute that I'm not even sorry for waking you up." 

"And you look happy." He says instead because it's the truth and also because he's not exactly eloquent at three in the morning. "You were amazing. So fucking amazing."

"You watched?"

"Of course. I wanted to see you… and it was also all I could get from you." If he feels a little bit weak admitting this, it's easy to ignore. He also deserves it. 

"I—I needed some time. I was so angry. Figured I'd call you after I landed but then it was all," Mitch shrugs and crunches his nose. "Busy. This—everything is so huge and crazy, you can't imagine. But I'm sorry, I should have texted you, let you know that it's not because of you anymore." 

"It's okay." Maybe it's not, but Auston is too relieved to care at this moment. "You're not mad anymore?"

"No… I—I'm not. I mean it's not like I would've told you to do anything else. So it shouldn't matter if you talked with me about it."

"You would have told me to deny it?" 

"Yeah, of course. If that's what you wanted I'd have told you that. I understand you, understand that you don't want to come out and why. That hasn't changed. I just wished—imagine me coming home to have Dylan shoving his phone into my face with your statement… it happened so fast and I hadn't even known about the picture. And then reading what you've said… it hurt, Auston. It hurt me."

"I'm sorry. I didn't—"

"Reading about how Ella and I are just mere acquaintances to you, after that week we’d spent together… living together almost like a—" Mitch stops himself and Auston doesn't have to use a lot of imagination to hear the ending of the sentence. He can see it in Mitch's eyes and the way his lips quiver that even the memory still hurts him. 

"I just wasn't prepared, Auston. If I'd known in advance… if you'd have talked to me about it before. But you didn't and that hurt even more. I felt excluded, like our relationship wasn't important to you, like _I_ wasn't important to you. That you still lived your life as if I wasn't in it."

"I know… I get it, Mitch, trust me on this." He pushes himself upright without putting the phone down. Doesn't want to interrupt their connection, the way Mitch is looking at him; all soft eyes, appearing almost grey at this moment. Maybe it's because of the screen, maybe it's because of the warm light that makes Mitch's face almost appear as if it's glowing, like the evening when they watched the sunset on the patio of Auston's parents while Ella played Uno with Auston's dad. "You're… in my life every day, and I wouldn't want it otherwise. You know that, right?"

"Yes, Auston, I know that." 

"Okay… I'll be better next time." 

"I could do without a repeat, to be honest." He doesn’t know if Mitch means without another incident like this or without Auston acting before talking to him. Probably both. 

"Willy told me I should wait and talk to you."

"He's a very smart man. You should listen to him more."

"Trust me, you don't want that." 

"Okay, I'll give you that, I don't want to drag your drunk ass up my stairs again and then watch you puke up your guts in my bedroom."

"I bought you a new rug. And I won the cup."

"True. If you win us more cups, you're welcome to ruin my rug every time."

Mitch laughs, the full-on Mitch-Marner laugh, with his head thrown back and eyes all wrinkled up. It makes something in Auston's stomach settle and relax. He didn't realize that he was tense before, but now, for the first time in days, he feels really calm. He slides down a bit until he's halfway lying again, probs up the phone against the other pillow so that he can lean his chin on his hands. 

"So, how's Tokyo? Must be strange for you to tower over other people for a change."

"My height is perfectly fine, it's not my fault that I'm surrounded by giants." Mitch leans in so that his face fills the whole screen, as if he wants to see Auston better, be closer to him. "Tokyo is _amaaazing_! Honestly, mindblowing. I mean I haven't seen a lot so far because duh… the Olympics, but me and a couple of other guys are going out tomorrow to explore a bit. The view from the top of the city hall is supposed to be amazing. And we wanna go to that crazy busy intersection." 

"Sounds good. Send me a video. Are you also going to go to one of those restaurants with mirrored floors where the waitresses don’t wear any panties?" 

"They—whut?! No way! You made that up!"

"Nope, apparently they have that… Freddie told me."

"Frederik Andersen? Stoic and giant ginger Freddie? I wouldn't have taken him for a guy who ogles under girl's skirts."

"Just kiddin', I just read it somewhere, I promise. But Freddie did tell me you should go to a cat cafe—you'd like that. Petting cats and all that."

"You talk with Andersen about me?" 

"Well… it's not exactly a secret in the locker room that we're close. Some of the guys may have drawn their conclusions after I brought you to the party after the parade. Then again they’re hockey players so..."

"Did someone see us making out by the back door?" 

"Don't think so, least no one mentioned it in the group chat or made fun of me. And I don't care if they do… Know, I mean. I trust them." 

"Okay," Mitch whispers softly. "Listen, I've got to go soon. Dinner with some of the guys, and then we wanted to go and cheer for the Volleyball team. But I'm glad I called, even though I had to wake you up."

"I'll live, this was definitely worth it." Without meaning it Auston has lowered his voice, too, goes for the same hushed and gentle tone. "Bree would say that I'm already living on Tokyo time anyway."

"Because of me?" 

"No because of artistic swimming, I'm totally crazy about that. Of course, because of you. I told you I would. Wouldn't want to miss you tearing it up for any money in the world. You've been so, so good. Not that I know anything about skateboarding, but—" Auston shrugs; it's only partly true because in the last two months he learned more about skateboarding than he ever thought was possible. 

"Not good enough to medal." 

"It's not over yet." 

"Well, park is not exactly my forte." Mitch pulls a grimace, then forces a smile. 

"I believe in you." 

"Thanks, that—" He averts his eyes for a second, bites on his lower lip. A gesture that tells Auston he's nervous, although he can't tell why. When Mitch looks back at the camera his gaze is soft, lashes long and dark against his skin as he blinks. He looks good, hair falling wild around his face, the tips almost blond now after spending a week in Arizona and now in Japan. The light tan makes his blue eyes stand out even more and there are even more freckles dotting his nose. Auston can't wait to count them all, regrets that he didn’t do that before to know the difference. 

"I wish you were here." 

"Me too... actually thought about flying there." 

Mitch snorts and rolls his eyes so hard that Auston is almost afraid he's hurting himself. Then he laughs as if that's the most hilarious thing Auston has ever said. 

"What's so funny?"

"You only thought that because you've been an asshole and felt guilty."

"Maybe…but I really wish I could see it live."

"Well…you could've if you were out. But if you'd show up in Tokyo right now no one would ever believe you anymore that we're just buddies that hang out occasionally." 

Mitch may be joking, but it stings. Because he's right, and because it's obvious that the wound Auston caused him is not really healed. Auston bites back the reply that is on his tongue. He deserves it. But he's still glad that Mitch lets it go with just that comment and brings his face closer to the camera again, begs Auston wordlessly to do the same. 

"Closer, baby, _closer_." 

Auston is pretty sure that he looks gross from that angle; shot from below, his nose must look even bigger than usual and he probably has pillow marks on his cheek, but he does as Mitch asks him to and is rewarded with a big happy smile. 

"And now?"

"Eskimo kisses." 

Under normal circumstances, Auston would have huffed and shaken his head in disbelief—but he's weak for anything regarding Mitch Marner, especially if it makes him giggle like that. So Auston leans in and rubs his nose against Mitch's on the screen. 

It's silly and childish, and they both break out in laughter, so they have to part again and take a couple of breaths. 

"You're crazy."

"You love me." 

"Should've never told you that." 

"Yeah, probably. Still glad that you did. Okay—I gotta go. Get some more sleep, you look tired." Mitch winks and blows him a kiss, then ends the call before Auston has a chance to reply with anything. The blackened screen shows him a reflection of his face; sleepy and ruffled, smiling in a way that not just Willy would call his ‘Mitch smile’, too wide, too dumb, too lovestruck. 

He rolls onto his back, feeling so much lighter than before, all soft and mellow, as if he could melt into the mattress. In his ear, he can hear blood pulsing and his nose tingles from a kiss that wasn't even real. Behind his closed eyes he still sees Mitch's face and he's ready to fall asleep like that when the phone in his hand vibrates with an incoming message. 

M: love u 2 - 

__

Auston flies back to Toronto a day after the closing ceremony of the Olympics on a whim that made his mama smile with affection and his sisters tease him mercilessly about his lovesickness. Most of his teammates are still out of town, with more than a month to go until training camp starts and he doesn't tell anyone that he's already back apart from JT. 

He's not here for them. 

He's here for Mitch. 

Toronto is exactly as muggy and hot and smelly as he has heard. He would have never thought it would ever get this warm in Canada but apparently he was wrong. He spends two days on his condo's balcony, looking over Toronto Island and the lake, the only place that makes the city tolerable in summer. When he bought the place he actually never imagined using it besides for an occasional team barbecue and he could only laugh at the realtor's words who tried to paint him a beautiful picture about sitting outside and enjoying breakfast in the morning sun. He still has breakfast at the counter in the kitchen, but he can admit now that the balcony actually has its perks. 

Mitch comes back from Tokyo two days later and finally knocks on his door the next evening, late at night and surprisingly not sporting his shiny silver medal, like Auston had almost expected. 

He looks good enough to eat; wearing his usual snapback and a white tank top that emphasizes his unusual tan. Despite his threads, he hasn't cut his hair yet, and it feels soft and cool when Auston gets rid of the hat and slides his fingers through it. Before Mitch has even a chance to say something Auston puts his fingers against his mouth and shuts him up. 

It makes Mitch grin even wider, almost blindingly; eyes sparkling with curiousity, and full of promises. 

Wordlessly he lets himself be pulled towards the bedroom where he stands and waits, biting his lips impatiently and looking up at Auston expectantly. 

It's only been three and a half weeks, a ridiculous small stretch of time, but it's the longest time they haven't seen each other since they started dating and Auston feels as if every single one of these days has carved a bigger hole into his chest, added another weight to his heart. Even after they had finally talked and Mitch had picked up their steady texting again… it hadn't been enough to make up for the fact that there was an ocean between them, that they were separated by time and space like never before. 

And Auston only has this night to learn about all the changes, to memorize them and make Mitch his again. Eight lousy hours. Until Mitch will leave him and Auston has to share him again with Ariella, Dylan and the others. He never thought he would mind, would be possessive or jealous—and he isn't; not really. But it doesn't mean that he has to like Mitch leaving. 

"Are you actually planning to do something here?" Mitch blurts out after a too-long minute and then reaches for Auston's waistband, eager as ever. His touch feels good, even though it's clumsy and hasty. 

Auston catches Mitch's hand and clicks his tongue disapprovingly. 

"My, my, so desperate?" He teases, laughs at the low whine that escapes Mitch. 

"It's been weeks! And unlike you, I spent them in close quarters with Japanese rice paper walls. I couldn't just jerk off like you!"

"Aw, well… I'll make it worth the wait, but let me look at you first, please." He leans in and whispers the words into Mitch's ear, breathes in his fresh scent of soap and skin and Ari's strawberry shampoo. 

"Promise?" 

"Promise." 

"Kay." 

"Close your eyes." 

"Uh, no?" Mitch shakes his head. "If you get to look at me, I get to look at you too." 

"Sounds fair." 

Auston's hands still fit perfectly around Mitch's face, still a few shades darker than Mitch's skin after spending the last five weeks at home. And Mitch's lids still flutter when he traces the apple of his cheeks, brushes his fingertips over the dark web of his lashes before Mitch sighs audibly; all the tension suddenly leaving his body—shoulders slumping down, mouth relaxing and eyes falling shut despite his earlier protest. 

It's precious to see and Auston places two soft kisses on his closed lids, then on the tip of Mitch's nose before he rubs his own against it, causing Mitch to giggle. His lips twitch and Auston knows that he expects a kiss on his mouth now. But as tempting as it is (very tempting, so tempting that he almost gives in) he has other plans and barely grazes them while his hands slide lower, down the long column of Mitch's throat to his collarbones, to his ribcage and his stomach and then upwards again on the sides of his chest where Mitch is ticklish and has to bite down on his lower lip to not react. 

His eyes are still closed and his cheeks are already flushed from Auston's tender and thorough touches. He looks innocent and sinful at the same time and Auston wishes he could etch this image into his brain. 

"Lift your arms."

Mitch obeys instantly and eagerly, licking his lips again; they look plush and red and wet and Auston's stomach clenches when he thinks about kissing him. But he focuses on getting the white tank off first, discarding it somewhere next to him, not really caring at all faced with the sight of Mitch's naked chest, the tan lines soft and barely existent, his nipples perked and pink and so perfect that Auston can't wait to taste them. Apparently, he has more self-control or is actually prone to self-torture because he resists and instead fans out his hands over Mitch's chest and barely brushes them with his pinkies on his way down to the trim waist. Mitch shivers and gasps loudly, a sound that elicits goosebumps on Auston's arms: so surprised and sweet and needy. His fingers tremble a bit when he pulls on the string of Mitch's ridiculous rainbow coloured shorts and he sees Mitch's dick twitch.

"Have you touched yourself since you've been back?"

Mitch whimpers, shakes his head. 

"No, I—I wanted to wait for you."

"God… Mitch, you're—"

The laugh he gets is embarrassed, and a little bit proud. Maybe because Auston's voice sounds hoarse and overwhelmed. Just like his heart feels when he looks up and meets Mitch's open blue eyes. Together they undo the tie of the shorts and slide them down over Mitch's hips. 

He's not wearing boxers and Auston's brain collapses. 

“You’re killing me here.” 

Unable to deny Mitch anymore, he allows him to press himself against Auston and pull his head down for a deep, filthy kiss that takes away both their breath. 

"That wasn't the plan," he protests when his lungs are finally filled with oxygen again. "I wanted to take my time, wanted to spoil you the way you did…"

Mitch rolls his eyes for half a second then reaches for Auston again.

"Fuck that plan, it's bullshit. Thankfully I've got a better idea."

__

Auston's plan wasn't shitty, but he can't deny that Mitch's is better. 

__

They drive to JT's cottage in Muskoka the next week: just Mitch, Ari and Auston. 

It's not the cottage trip that Auston once imagined when he proposed it to Mitch last winter. It's probably the exact opposite of that because instead of having sex first thing in the morning and last thing at night, they have no sex at all. 

They spend the day at the sandy beach or take JT's canoe to paddle along the shoreline, Ari sitting between them in her pink swimming vest and her rainbow bathing suit. Auston brushes her hair at night while Mitch handles the barbecue. After dinner, they play Uno or matches until Ari is ready to pass out from exhaustion, even though she keeps insisting that she's not tired at all. 

It's more relaxed than the week they spent in Arizona, and even better. Because this time he has Mitch around him all the time, not only in the morning or in the evening. He doesn't have to share his attention with skateboarding and doesn't have to share him during dinner with his sisters or his mama. Because this time Mitch is carefree, all the stress and nervousness of the upcoming Olympics is gone, just like the bags underneath his eyes and the remaining tan lines since he's basically shirtless 24/7 (Auston doesn't mind at all, except that he's unable to do anything about it). Because this time Mitch is even more touchy and cuddly with him, always with a hand on Auston's shoulder, arm or over his stomach, brushing strands of hair away or poking him with his toes, leaning his weight against him before pressing tiny kisses wherever he can reach. 

It's also better than the trip they never made.

Auston doesn't admit it, but maybe Mitch can read his thoughts as they are lying on the patio the evening before they have to return to Toronto; squeezed together on one of the comfortable lounge chairs Mitch is half draped over him, head on Auston's chest and hand playing lazily with his chain or drawing silly pictures on his bare skin. 

"Sorry, I know this isn't what you imagined our cottage trip to be like." A kiss—an apology that Auston doesn't need. "Maybe I can get the others to watch El next time if you have a free weekend before training camp. I would've asked, but after being gone for so long, I couldn't—"

' _Be without her_.' Auston finishes for him. As excited as he is for the next season, he doesn't want to think about training camp. Instead of an answer he lowers his head and rubs his nose over Mitch's scalp, pulls him closer until Mitch sighs. 

It's getting cooler now that the sun has set and a slight breeze is coming from the lake, but Mitch radiates the heat he soaked up during the day and Auston is too comfortable to get up. Little waves are lapping at the beach and somewhere in the forest a bird croaks. Mitch smells of sunshine, lakewater, and sickly sweet from the pot he smoked earlier. Auston's right hand is low on his back, fingers brushing the waistband. If he wanted he could slide it lower, into Mitch's shorts or cup his ass; he could tease him, could probably coax him to fully climb onto his lab so that they could slowly grind against each other until they both come in their pants… 

He could; and it's not like he doesn't want. 

But this is nice too—intimate in a way that sex isn't always. 

Mitch hums blissfully, his exhale causing Auston to shiver. 

"I love you so much… you have no idea."

Auston doesn't say anything. 

Because he has a very good idea. 

"This is perfect."

Auston keeps silent. 

Because it is, and it's too fragile to ruin it. 

__

They don't find the time to spend another weekend at the cottage. If Mitch was busy before the Olympics, he’s twice as busy now; everyone and their mother wants to interview or book him for photographs and campaigns. The skate park he used to train is suddenly the most popular one in the whole GTA and Mac's store gets overrun with reporters and young kids alike. He flies to Montreal and LA and then to Miami; shoots a commercial with Nike, poses for a high fashion magazine (in what he calls the weirdest stuff he has ever worn) and meets Tony Hawk for a Trashers challenge and a co-op for his newest PS4 game. His phone is constantly ringing—so much that he basically didn't switch it on during their stay at the cottage and that Auston suggests him getting an agent. 

Of course, Mitch rolls his eyes about this idea, but Auston can see that he's having a hard time keeping up with everything, that his smile is more strained, and he looks tired more often. Not that they spend really enough time with each other, but the few times they do, Mitch usually collapses on the couch or on the bed and sleeps for two hours. 

'It'll pass,' he says when Auston suggests taking it slow, to lessen the workload. 'It's just a phase. In a couple of weeks, everything will be back to normal.'

Auston doesn't believe him, but there's nothing he can say or do besides pulling Mitch’s feet onto his lap or combing his fingers through his long hair. They dyed a part of his bangs with a bright royal blue - almost Leafs blue - for the photoshoot and Auston is fascinated by how the colour has washed out to a faint turquoise shade. 

Then training camp starts and Auston packs his suitcase to leave Toronto for ten days while Mitch watches him from the bed, wearing Auston's sweats and an old shirt that both hang ridiculously on his slimmer body—he has lost weight, it's obvious, even though Auston keeps all his favourites in the fridge basically all the time and orders whatever food he wants. His mama would give him shit if he didn't. 

"They asked me about you… in that last interview," he says casually, while slurping a blueberry-banana smoothie that Auston topped off with chia seeds and white chocolate flakes. His trainer would kill him if he ever had something as sugar-loaded as this so close to the start of the season, but he got really good at figuring out what Mitch would like to get extra calories into him. 

"They did?" Auston looks up from zipping up his suitcase. He tries to keep his voice neutral, isn't sure if he manages and knows that he failed when Mitch shrinks a bit. 

"How often we hang out, what stuff we do, silly stuff like that… if you're okay with me being bi." 

"What kind of question is that? Of course, I am." 

"Would be hypocritical if you weren’t," Mitch snarks. "Don't worry, I didn't say that, basically just confirmed what you said… met at the fundraiser, kind of got along, that it was just a coincidence that my trainer worked there—nothing for you to worry about."

"I wasn't."

"Didn't look like that." A shrug. 

"How many more of these interviews will you give?"

"Dunno, I mean… it could always come up."

"You could ask them to send their questions in advance, you know that." Even to his own ears Auston sounds like an asshole. He walks into the ensuite. It's still too hot and muggy to wear even a light suit. But it's just training camp and he doesn't really get why they have to dress up. 

"Yeah, thanks for the advice, but it's just not—my thing. I like to do things spontaneously." 

"Well, that’s worked out fine so far." Auston frowns at the selection of dress shirts, finally decides 'fuck it' and chooses one of his nicer shirts that goes well with the light blue pattern of the suit. When he turns around Mitch is leaning against the doorframe, watching him with narrowed eyes. 

"Are we fighting? Because if so, I wasn't aware of it until now."

"I—I just don't get why you don't hire an agent."

"Excuse me? We had this conversation before. I don't want one, I don't need one… and I'm not exactly loaded just because I won a stupid medal." Mitch folds his arms in front of his chest. 

"I could—" Auston stops himself; partly because he's feeling stupid, but mostly because he knows that it would infuriate Mitch. 

"You're lucky you didn't finish this sentence." 

"I'm sorry." 

"Are you?" With careful, soundless steps Mitch crosses the distance, searching Auston's face for any traces of a lie. His body seems tense, his movements less graceful and more robotic and there’s something cautious in his gaze, something hidden, that Auston can't figure out at first. Can't decipher until Mitch softly exhales and relaxes. 

"Okay." 

"I don't want to fight. I—I'm just—"

"An asshole?"

"I guess."

"You can trust me, Aus, I'm… I'm maybe not as experienced in this as you are, but I'm not a fool. If I refuse to answer questions like that it would just look more suspicious."

Mitch is right, Auston knows. And even more important, Auston trusts him. So he lifts Mitch's chin and tips his head back for a kiss, winds the turquoise strand around the index finger of his other hand while he waits for Mitch's body to extinguish the remaining distance between them. Their kiss tastes of blueberries and Auston's minty toothpaste and he wants to keep it in his mouth as long as possible. 

__

It's only when he's halfway to Pearson, staring out of the window of his uber that he recognizes what the shadow in Mitch's eyes has been: sadness. 

And anxiety. 

Auston feels suddenly cold despite the late September heat. Unsettled and way less excited about training camp. He gets out his phone and types 'I trust you', sends it to Mitch and begs that he will read it and reply before he's at the airport and gets swarmed by his teammates. 

But he doesn't have to wait at all, because there's already the bubble with the three dots, indicating him that Mitch is texting. 

M:Love U 2 - 

It's not exactly an answer—it's better. Enough to put a smile on his face again and to help him forget about the expression in Mitch's eyes. 

They’re fine. 

__

_They aren't_. 

__

Auston comes back from camp and preseason starts, then the actual season. If they had thought that Mitch's schedule would get less packed, that the questions would stop when the press could talk about actual hockey… they were wrong. 

Mitch is as busy as ever, and the questions don't stop. 

Their first game is an away game in Montreal; they lose by one goal despite their four-goal lead, and despite scoring two of them, the first thing Auston gets asked about post-game is his offseason at home. It's veiled, but he still feels himself tense up and his jaw clench. 

"Scottsdale was… uh great as always. Sleeping, eating my mom's food. Was even better that I got to show off the cup, have a big party with all of my people." He rubs his neck and then realizes his mistake. 

"Sounds awesome. Was Mitch Marner among those people, by any chance?"

It's a stupid question, even more stupid than Auston's slip because probably every single person in Toronto knows that Mitch was in Tokyo on his cup day. 

"No, of course, he wasn't." 

"But he'd been with you in Scottsdale, that's right, isn't it?"

"He wasn't with me, he was there to train, and we met up a couple of times, hang out, had dinner you know?"

"Sounds awesome," the guy repeats and Auston barely suppresses an eye roll before they finally move on to actual hockey-related topics. 

Thankfully Kristen is up next and Auston trusts her to be smart enough to not ask any more silly questions. 

He calls Mitch on their way to the airport, has a hard time not growling in anger while Mitch listens attentively and patiently to his rant. But he doesn't say anything, doesn't even seem to share Auston's resentment, only mumbles about that being their job and quickly starts to tell him about Ari's day at school, shows him the drawing she made for Auston. It's so fucking cute that Auston almost immediately forgets about the reporter.

"That's… wow, tell her I said 'thanks'."

"Are you kidding me? If she knew that I already showed it to you she’d have a fit." Mitch laughs. "Promise me that you act all surprised when she gives it to you." 

"Of course," Auston feels almost offended. "Do you think I want to upset her?" 

"Awww, that's so cute!" Willy coos behind him, head leaning over the backrest of Auston's seat. "I wanna see the pic, too, Mitchy."

"Hi Willy," Mitch waves and ignores Auston's frown at the nickname. Only _he_ is allowed to call Mitch that. 

"That's really fucking cute. I love that she got the size of Auston's head right." 

"Shut up, Willy. Annoy someone else."

"But you're the most interesting one."

Mitch laughs again, amused and bright and beautiful; Auston can't look away even though he knows that he's giving Willy more material to mock him. 

"Well, that only shows how boring your life is, Willy, if you think Auston is interesting."

It's moments like these where Auston couldn't love Mitch more. Especially when winks at Auston and Willy withdraws, sulking. 

"For the record, I'm not _that_ uninteresting."

"You are, but it's okay—I love you anyway."

"Will you come over later?"

"I—I don't think that would be smart, Aus," Mitch shakes his head. He looks… Auston can't tell—worried? Reluctant. But then he exhales and continues. "There were people lingering in front of your building when I left last time… they looked like reporters to me—I dunno, maybe I'm just getting paranoid, too." 

His laugh sounds strained as he brushes his hair back, shrugs. 

"It was probably nothing, but I left through the parking garage. Just to make sure they don't see me."

Auston is suddenly bright awake; cold creeps into his neck like icy fingers. It's part disbelief, part concern, part anger. Not about Mitch—definitely not. It's the familiar anger that he's been feeling again and again over the last couple of months. 

"Aus?"

"Yeah, I—I'm sorry. I'm just… my building has a doorman for stuff like that, they shouldn't loiter around in front of it and be able to hassle people."

"They were on the sidewalk, Auston, that's not illegal or anything your doorman can do anything about." 

"I know, it… just sucks. Everything sucks."

"That I can't come over? Or…?

Mitch looks at him, head cocked sideways, thoughtful and waiting. Expecting Auston to explain himself. But it's not a topic for the phone, also not one that he wants to have in earshot of his teammates on the bus ride to the airport. So instead he says, "Can I come over then?"

"If—if you want. Probably shouldn't take an Uber though. It's not exactly a secret anymore where we both live."

"I want to. I'll ask Kappy, he drove to the arena with his own car. He'll probably give me a lift."

William peeks around his backrest. "Or maybe not, because you've been shitty to me today and he definitely likes me better than you."

" _Excuse me_ , I've been perfectly nice to you, Mitch was the rude one."

Auston turns around and smiles widely and hopefully winningly, lifts his phone so that Willy can also get a full view of Mitch's begging puppy eyes and his sad pout (probably way more effective than his own silly smile.) 

"You're definitely not cute and I hate both of you."

"I'll text you when we're at the arena." 

Mitch lights up and blows Willy a kiss before he ends the call. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two more chapters to go! Yayyy!  
> Are you excited? Because I am. ^.^


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you tired already of me apologizing every second week for updating late? Well, I have good news, because after this it will only be one more apology since this is really the second to last chapter. Yayyy, you almost made it.  
> I'm really sorry that I couldn't upload earlier but I was sick and there was also an insane amount of edits on this chapter. It's the longest chapter, I hope that makes up for it too.  
> Fun fact: the last part of this chapter was actually the very first part I wrote for this story, and I was so pleased that it still fitted when I finally wrote the 70k that lead up to it. 
> 
> I hope you like it.

They play the Rangers at home and it’s the exact shit show he’d been expecting. Not a single one of his passes connect with Zach or JT, all his shots are blocked, and he draws a penalty that leads to the Rangers’ fourth goal. Auston is ready to sleep for a thousand years after the game ends especially since the post-game interviews are nothing but stupid questions as always, spiced up by the barely hidden concern about his recent goal drought. 

Finally stepping into the shower is a relief; thinking about the three-day-break ahead of them even more so. He plans to hole up at Mitch's place and only leave for practice and his morning runs.

They haven't seen each other for almost two weeks. Thanks to his road trip to the west coast and Mitch's promotion tour to SF, they hadn’t been able to manage even a quick meeting in either LA or Anaheim. 

He's tired, and starved, and cranky. The only thing he wants right now is to get out of here, eat some food and cuddle Mitch. Not necessarily in that order, he's willing to take the cuddles first and then devour Dylan's amazing chicken pasta primavera. Or maybe both at once. 

"Does this mean that I'm finally going to meet her?"

It takes Auston a couple of seconds to realize that Willy is speaking to him. "You already met her?" 

"I mean officially?" 

"She's a six-year-old kid, not the queen of England. I don't think meeting her 'officially' is a thing?" Auston rolls his eyes, but he knows it's too fond. He can’t hide how he’s moved that Willy cares so much. 

"Well, you certainly treat her like a princess."

And yeah, maybe Willy has a point there. Because, yes, Auston does treat Ariella like a princess, loves to buy her dresses and toys and almost anything she could want.. But that's mostly because he knows that Mitch isn't able to do that, and because he knows those are things aren’t important to her. He knows she’d rather he sit at her bed and read her stories or dive into the pool with her or solve a jigsaw puzzle with him and Mitch. But he just loves to see her face light up in excitement even if it's just a small thing like a potted cactus.

Because she is precious and affectionate and sweet. Because she doesn't care that he's ‘first overall draft pick’ Auston Matthews. Or ‘Calder trophy winner’ Auston Matthews. For her, he's just 'Auston.' 

Because she's the picture-perfect kid version of Mitch, who doesn't allow him to take care of him. 

So Auston doesn't say anything, just accepts his losses and he lathers himself up with soap, probably not doing a particularly thorough job; he's too eager to get out and get dressed, to leave the locker room and get away. 

Thankfully Willy doesn't call him out on his weakness and seems to drop the subject. At least that's what Auston thinks, until he speaks again.

"You're planning anything special for your anniversary with your boyfriend?" 

It's loud and clear in the almost empty showers—echos from the tiled walls and floors as if Willy had shouted it. 

Auston almost drops his soap. 

"Fuck, would you—what are you talking about?" He hisses even though no one is close enough to hear them; most of their teammates are already done showering and are busy getting dressed in the other room. 

"About the fact that you and Mitch have been together for nearly a year now?" Willy turns off the water and reaches for the towel. "Please don't tell me that you forgot that?"

Auston didn't, but he's not about to tell Willy that. Also, that’s not what he’s angry about. 

"Can you please shut up or… at least, not announce it to the whole locker room?"

Willy stares at him with blank confusion in his blue eyes. His hair is standing up in all directions and his face is still a bit blotchy from the game, his brows messed up; he looks so not like William Nylander at all but somehow he’s still kind of hot and super handsome. It’s almost intimidating. Or it would be, if it weren't for the fact that he's Auston's teammate, his best friend, and not Mitch. 

"But I thought… I thought that was the point of them coming here tonight?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Willy. I mean, yeah, I don't usually, but right now I'd really like to know what the fuck you're talking about."

Willy leans against the wall of Auston's shower cubicle, towel slung around his hips, abs and chest glistening, droplets clinging to his beard and the strands around his face. 

Stupidly handsome. (Still not Mitch.) 

"I thought they were here because you finally wanted to tell the team?"

The idea alone is so crazy that Auston laughs out loud because he actually thought that Willy was joking. Only, when Willy's face doesn't light up at Auston’s recognition of his own hilarious joke, he stops and looks at his friend. "You're joking right?"

"I'm definitely not joking."

"So you're just crazy?" His voice sounds a little meaner than he intended and he almost flinches at his own tone, but he continues. "I told you that I'm not coming out, and I definitely wouldn’t come out like this… with Mitch and Ari here."

For a moment Willy looks actually hurt; probably because of the too-harsh, too-rude, and almost insulting tone. Then he narrows his eyes, frowns, and Auston can see that he's getting frustrated. 

"Fine, I get it—stupid of me to assume that you’d finally do something brave, or at least stop hiding it from your teammates. I mean it's not like some of them don't already assume. Kappy is stupid, but not that stupid; Patty saw you leaving after the fundraiser; and I'm pretty sure Freddie’s put two and two together, too. None of us would mind."

"I'm not—" Even in his head it sounds wrong, so Auston doesn't protest, doesn't deny it. Willy is right. 

"But have you thought this through? I mean both of you?"

"He's allowed to go to a hockey game, isn't he? That's something even the media should get. Also, they know that we're friends so…" 

"No, that's not—. Have you thought about Ari's reaction when she sees you? You told me that she adores you, heaven knows why because you're an asshole, especially when you're not playing well. But imagine her jumping into your arms, or talking about you going home with them? What if someone hears?" 

Suddenly Auston feels all his blood turning to ice, acid, splinters of glass. Everything inside his body turns cold, sour, breaks apart and he thinks he can't breathe for long long seconds, until he has to cough— from the lack of oxygen, from the bitterness on his tongue and the panic that is rising inside him until it clouds his mind. Because that’s exactly how he pictured it, what he’s been looking forward to the whole day. Mitch and Ari both decked out in Leafs colours with his nameplate on the back. Auston's throat goes tight when he thinks about stepping into the family room and finding Mitch there with Ari in his arms, because by this time she'd be super tired even though it was an early game. He imagines Mitch's eyes lighting up and then watching him smile and he can almost feel Ariella's small arms around his legs when she runs up to hug him. Maybe he’d hoist her up to put her arms around his neck and laugh in his face, excited.. 

But unlike Mitch, she wouldn't get that she couldn’t do that here; that there are too many people who could draw the right conclusions, could spot and take photos of something he doesn’t want public. 

There’s no way that this could have worked out.

He’s stupid. And with the way Willy is looking at him, he probably thinks so too. 

It's too much. Too much of what he wants, too much of what he can't have. Too thrilling. Too frightening. 

He leans his forehead against the cool tiles, closes his eyes and wishes… that he could stay in here, never step out of the showers, out of the locker room. Never having to think about or face anyone who isn't Mitch. That he could stay and drown himself because he's so tired of everything. Of hiding, of lying. Of not living his life the way he wants to. It's not fair. 

"Everything okay with Matts?"

Pierre. 

Auston had forgotten he was still there. But Willy must nod for him, because he doesn't ask again and Auston can hear the soft flap flap of his slides heading back to the dressing room. 

"Aus? You're coming?"

He waves his hand, hoping that Willy gets that he needs another minute. But then the water cuts off so unexpectedly that he shivers. He's aware that Willy must have turned it off, that Willy is next to him and offering him one of the soft white towels. That he's waiting for Auston to leave the showers. 

"Listen, let's get out of here. We’ll think of something, okay? We can wait here until most of the press have cleared out. I mean… it's not like any of the guys would say anything, and the media isn't allowed in here. It will be no problem and everything will go smoothly." He sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than Auston.

Auston raises his eyebrows. This is Toronto, this is _Hockey in Toronto_ , and there’s no way they’ll get away without pictures popping up somewhere. Hugging in the background of someone's Insta story, or together in the car, or at Timmy's later to get Timbits for Ari. 

He’s learned that the hard way.

"Should I tell Mitch that he’ll have to wait for you in the car? I can take him to the parking lot."

For a few moments, he contemplates taking up Willy's offer, taking the out so that he won’t have to face the disappointment in Ari's eyes, the hurt and anger in Mitch's. 

But he knows that Mitch would be even more upset if he doesn’t hear it from Auston.

"No, I—I’ll do it."

"Good." Willy nods. "Don't even know why I suggested it." 

"Probably because you're a good friend." It's a sign of how exhausted Auston is that he admits that. 

"Better than you deserve." 

(He's right.)

__

He gets dressed in a haze, not even paying attention to it at all; automatic movements that he's learned in years after years of repeating them. Pants, shirt, buttons. Tie, shoes, jacket. Beanie, phone, bag. And then he’s out of excuses, can't think of another thing to do to avoid leaving the locker room. He and Willy are among the last ones there and the equipment managers have already started to clear the room. 

They both thank them and wish them a great weekend before they make their way through the empty blue and black hallway to the meeting area. 

His heart beats loudly and rapidly in his chest, almost as fast as it was during the game. What if Mitch didn't get his text, what if he's still there and is pissed? 

But they aren't and Auston doesn't know what to think, what to feel. Because there are so many conflicting thoughts, so many feelings. 

Relief. Disappointment. Shame. 

__

When he checks his phone in the car there's a few texts waiting for him. 

M: _don't worry, thought the same_ \- 

M: _told El that you had to do interviews. She wasn't thrilled_ -

M: _can I tell her u’ll be there 2morrow when she wakes up?_ -

The weight that drops from his shoulders is so heavy that's probably loud enough to be heard in Arizona and his phone almost slips from his fingers in his hurry to type out a response. 

A: _Yes, plz_ -

M: _k, have to put the lady to bed now. door is unlocked, c u soon_ -

But when Auston gets out of JT's car half an hour later, there’s still light coming from Ari's bedroom window and when he opens the door he can already hear an excited squeal from upstairs, followed by a loud thump and running footsteps. He barely manages to take his jacket off and get down to his knees before Ari crashes into him. 

"Auston! You came! I wanted to stay awake so that I could see you!" Her hair is sleek and warm against his cold cheeks and her excitement makes him smile. "I saw you at the game, it was so amazing. I want to go every night now and see you score." 

"Well, I hope I score next time you're there."

She loosens her grip around his neck for a second and looks at him, thoughtful and a little bit sad. "If that man didn't make you go to the… the sin bin, maybe you would have scored. Daddy was so upset, he even said the mean word with f that I'm not supposed to say."

Auston can't help but laugh; he searches for Mitch, who is leaning against the wall on the lowest step of the staircase, arms crossed in front of his chest and his expression is a mixture of amusement and annoyance. 

"He did?! That means more money for your swear jar, right?" 

"Yes! It will be really full soon when we go to more hockey games." Her smile is cute and cheeky; she’s always teasing and joking, never taking anything seriously—just like her father. Mitch raised her with all his best abilities: his conviction, his humour, his thoughtfulness and that immense hunger for life that takes Auston's breath away every time he can witness it. 

Mitch's cup is never just half full—even if he started with one that was almost empty. Mitch's cup is always full because he managed to fill his life with people who support him and love him. 

It's as devastating as much as it's discouraging. Because Auston feels like he's not necessary, not needed. Like he can't bring anything of importance to Mitch's life. Doesn't have a place in it that isn't already taken by Ariella, Dylan or someone else. He knows it doesn't work like that, that he can't just measure another person's value like that. Knows that Mitch doesn't work like that and that he wants Auston in his life even though he can't offer him anything. 

(He has a promise that proves it—the three most precious words he has ever heard.) 

But Ariella is even more innocent, more open and she needs Auston in a way Mitch probably never will. 

It's so easy to give back all the love that she has for him, to pick her up and carry her towards the stairs where he waits for Mitch to bow down and press a chaste kiss to his cheek. 

"Can Auston do storytime, daddy?" 

"Uhm, no? You already had bedtime with Dylan and me, half an hour ago. I know that's a long time but I'm pretty sure even you remember that." 

"But—please, Daddy. It's been so long since Auston and I had storytime." She turns her huge blue eyes up to Mitch, bony arms tightening around Auston's neck as if she's afraid that either Auston could put her down or Mitch could snatch her out of Auston's embrace. 

"Yes, please, daddy. It's been so long." Auston echos. He probably fails to copy her pleading look, but he does his best to appear as innocent and persuasive. It could be too much, could turn this into the opposite direction and annoy Mitch because he openly went against him and his wishes by siding with his daughter. But he feels lighter with Ari in his arms, trusts the effect their physical similarities have and the picture they create. 

(He doesn't want to overuse it, but also can't help but use it to his advantage. Not after Mitch had admitted that he's weak for seeing Auston and Ari together.) 

The slight twitch of Mitch's lips and the exaggerated eye roll they get is enough of a sign that their tactic worked; enough of a reward to Auston who loves to see Mitch weak for him. 

"Ten minutes of storytime. Not more. I'll heat up some leftovers for Auston in the meantime and then I'll come upstairs and get him." 

"Yayyyy, you're the best, daddy!" 

It shouldn't be possible for Ari to hug Auston tighter, but somehow she manages, the crook of her elbow pressing so hard against his windpipe that he can't breathe for a second or two—although that could also be a result of Mitch’s smile. 

"I know, I know, but it's great to know you appreciate me so much. I'll make sure to remind you next time you complain about leaving the skate park too soon." Mitch leans forward and brushes his nose over Ari's cheek, eyes fixed on Auston. "Try to not wake Dylan, okay? Only whisper voices and the little light." 

"Yes, Daddy." 

It's probably not necessary to whisper her reply, but it's still very cute, even more so when she releases her grip around Auston's neck a bit and leans in to brush her nose against Mitch's, giggling softly when she watches Auston do the same. 

"Ten minutes, I mean it. Dyls made lasagna primavera just for you, with nothing but nutritionist-approved and boring stuff. Don’t let it go cold." Mitch pronounces every word carefully, just loud enough that Ari can hear them too. Then more quietly, and definitely just meant for Auston to hear them: "Everyone else is out tonight, so we shouldn't waste this opportunity." 

And as appealing the thought of Dylan's lasagna is, the prospect of alone-time with Mitch is even more tempting. 

Auston doesn't exactly hurry to get Ari upstairs and to bed, but it's a close call and he's now definitely on board with keeping story time short. As promised, they don't switch on the overhead light; instead, they fumble around the nightstand to turn on the night light again. With the rainbow coloured stars dancing over the furniture and the ceiling, Auston can see that Dylan is indeed asleep in Ari's bed, covers pushed down so that it's obvious that he's shirtless. His face is buried in the pillow, hair messed up, overlong like Mitch's has been recently and he's lying on his side, arm outstretched as if he's holding onto someone who slipped out from his grasp. 

The maple leaf on his shoulder is like a slap in Auston's face. He stumbles, lets himself drop onto the bean bag in front of the bed. 

"Shhhh," Ari puts her finger against her lips, even though her shushing noise is probably louder than any sound Auston made. 

"We're not allo—allowed to wake Dyls, remember?" 

Auston remembers; there's just one dark and jealous part inside him that doesn't care. That doesn't want Dylan here, in Ari's bed. Doesn't want to imagine the three of them snuggled together with Ari in the middle, with Mitch and Dylan helping her read a couple of pages from her book before they took over. He knows exactly what it looks like, has experienced it enough times for his mind to supply him with the pictures.

It's petty and also wrong because he knows that Dylan is one of the best reasons Mitch is the person he is right now, but that doesn't mean that he can fully shut down his jealousy with logic. 

The heart is a fickle thing and Auston isn't used to being this affected by it. 

Then Ari tugs on his sleeve and demands his attention and it's enough to turn all his focus on her. 

Dylan may be asleep in her bed like he belongs there, but Ari is with him on the bean bag, nestled against his side and half on top of him and Mitch is downstairs, waiting for him. 

As if Auston belongs there, too. 

It probably takes Ariella longer than ten minutes to fall asleep, yet not so long that Mitch comes upstairs to get Auston. When her breathing finally evens out he carefully lifts her and lies her down on the mattress. In the low colourful hue of the nightlight, he watches her immediately and instinctively rolling over onto the side so that she's closer to Dylan's warmth who doesn't even flinch.

They make a cute picture and after feeling her fall asleep pressed against him, grabby hands wound around his neck as if she couldn't get close enough… it's easier to admit it and not feel threatened by his earlier silly emotions. 

He shakes himself out of his thoughts and drags the blankets over them both; though he knows it's futile because they will kick them down again and when Mitch checks up on her before going to sleep Ari will have shifted and wandered all over the bed. 

So he just presses a soft kiss onto her warm cheek and activates the nightlight again. Then he leaves the room and softly closes the door. 

Auston doesn't know when he started to leave his clothes at Mitch's place but he's glad for it now when he can just cross the hallway and pull out some of his sweats and an old Off-White hoodie; both smelling comfortingly of a detergent that isn't the one his cleaning lady uses. Of course, it also reminds him of Mitch but even more, he treasures the simple fact that he's here often enough to leave traces—that he's got a space in this little house, in this weird, quirky family that is filled with nothing but love. 

(And he's also glad that he doesn't have to resort to either Mitch's way-too-short pants or Dylan's sweaters that are still one size too small.) 

When he makes his way downstairs he can already smell the savoury richness of cheese and vegetables and suddenly he's very aware of the hole in his stomach, the low growl that has turned into a fierce roar and that he has ignored since he left the locker room two hours ago. 

Mitch is wearing the pink frilly apron—probably meant as a joke because he did nothing than shoving a plate into the oven and watch it heat up—and he's looking up from his phone expectantly when Auston enters the kitchen and steps over to him. 

"I was just about to get you. Thought you'd fallen asleep there, too." 

It wouldn't have been the first time, but then Auston was usually in bed with Mitch and not Dylan. 

"Nah, not without my favourite hugging bear." He leans down for the kiss he's been waiting for since he entered the house. Mitch's lips are warm against his, but they’re stiff and don't part when he tries to sneak him some tongue. With a quizzical look, he straightens again. Yeah, he's hungry and really should get his post-game dinner but he also wants to get his post-game kiss. 

"What happened to not wasting the opportunity of everyone being out?" 

"Nothin', I—" Mitch shakes his head as if he has been far, far away. Then he slips out from his spot between the counter and Auston's body and grabs the mittens to get the dish out of the oven. Auston's stomach rumbles again at the waft that hits his nose while he watches Mitch ladle up a huge spoonful onto his plate. The lasagna is colourful with carrots, peppers and spinach, but topped up with a layer of cheese that is probably not on his diet plan.

"You know that there won't be a ‘next time’?" 

Auston raises his eyebrow as he hands Mitch another fork so that they can share. He's not sure what Mitch is referring to, only knows that he doesn't like the seriousness in his voice.

"Another game for Ari… at least not in the next few months." 

"Okay?"

"I know you didn't promise her anything, and I don't want—" Mitch trails off again and stretches awkwardly. The movement makes his sweater ride up and expose the pale stretch of his side. It's distracting, or it would have been if it weren't for the apron that is still covering Mitch's stomach, or the topic they are talking about and the concern in Mitch's voice. "I don't want to cause drama or fight tonight, but… we've been so careful for the last weeks and then we were so silly and sloppy tonight."

"Yeah."

There's nothing Auston can say except agreeing. They have wanted to take Ariella to a game after she’d begged them both for so long that they had ignored all the problems involved. Auston had been so swayed by the thought of making her happy that he hadn’t stopped to think it through.

When Mitch lowers his eyes and starts to poke on the crust of cheese the shadows under his eyes are stark, just like the lines on his forehead and around his mouth. For the first time, Auston thinks that Mitch looks his age—it's probably mostly because Mitch is constantly working and trying to fit everything into a 24/7 working schedule. But it's probably also because of the pressure of being in the spotlight that is still shining down on him so brightly that he can barely take a breather. 

Most of it is earned and what he deserves thanks to his amazing skills and even more because of his outstanding personality. But a small part of it is Auston's fault and Mitch doesn't deserve that part. 

He inches closer to Mitch and nudges him with his elbow. 

"Stop blaming yourself."

"She's my daughter, and she's crazy about you… how could I forget? Why didn’t I think earlier about how she reacts every time she sees you?" Mitch tips the fork against his lower lip, so lost in thought that he doesn't notice how deep the prongs dig into the skin, making it look white and pale. "You should've heard her during the game, talking about nothing but meeting you later that I sometimes had to put my hand over her mouth so that no one would overhear her… I knew there was not a chance in hell that she wouldn't reveal everything the moment she saw you."

"I'm… I should've thought—"

"No, I _should've_. That's not on you." Hair flies into all directions as Mitch quickly shakes his head; the dyed strand is now mostly bleached blonde, only the slightest hint of turquoise giving away that it was bright blue a couple of weeks ago. Auston wants to catch it and wind it around his finger again and without further thinking he does it; grabs it and uses it to pull Mitch gently closer. If it's to distract Mitch or himself from the guilt he doesn't know. 

"But seeing her face fall when I told her that you can't meet us after because you had to see the coaches… it was—It was a lot. And I know I should've explained it to her, shouldn't have lied, but… Aus, I couldn't think about anything else. I didn't want her to know how wrong this world is, how false and cruel."

Auston is only half sure that he gets what Mitch wants to tell him, his mind still stuck on trying to solve the labyrinth that is Mitch's way of thinking. Until suddenly everything clicks into place and it's everything he has been angry about since he started to date Mitch, since he got to know him and his daughter. 

Since he realized for the first time how high the price is that he's paying for playing in the NHL. 

(He always thought it was his mama working three jobs, his sisters being stalked by the media and random girls on Instagram, or his dad becoming more invested in his career than him.) 

But it's this. His own honesty, his honour, his feelings—all the downplaying, the hiding, the lying. 

Before he has just doubted that it wasn't worth it. 

Now he _knows_. 

"It's okay; Mitch… You did the right thing." 

__

But it's getting harder and harder to tell himself this. 

__

"I've never lied to her, Auston," Mitch repeats later when they’re lying in Mitch's bed; Auston curled around his lower body, basking in the familiar pure scent that is Mitch's skin. Their hair is damp from the shower they took before and Mitch's fingers comb through the wet strands with careful movements, gently massaging his scalp. 

It's something that calms them both equally—Auston because he loves to feel Mitch's touch and Mitch because he always has to keep himself busy, even if it's something as mundane as caressing Auston. 

Almost as if he wants to soothe the sting that his words have caused. Almost as if he wants to apologize. As if he knows exactly how guilty Auston feels. 

He swallows. 

His former words that have tasted bitter before when he tried to calm Mitch are now like ash on his tongue, coating it with sticky dryness, clogging his throat so that all the things he wants to say are stuck and can't get out. Auston closes his eyes for a moment, tries to find something - _anything_ \- inside him that he can say and that doesn't sound shallow. But then he gives up and just tightens his hold on Mitch's thighs, rubs his face against the toned belly, presses short kisses to Mitch's navel. 

He'd probably give a lot to take that feeling from Mitch, to not have made Mitch feel like this at all in the first place. 

"I always wanted to raise her like this, with honesty, no matter what it's about. Because it's the most important thing for me and because I believe whatever you're trying to hide, lying just makes it worse. And that it will always hurt people even if you're doing it with the best intentions." 

Auston can't see Mitch's face, doesn't dare to lift his head so that he can; and it's not necessary. Mitch's voice is sad and guilty enough. 

So he just continues what he's doing: showing Mitch how much he understands, how sorry he is. How much he wishes he wasn't the reason Mitch had broken his own heart. 

__

The way Ariella squeals at the sound of the doorbell Auston wouldn't have thought that it had only been about ten hours since she last saw her dad. 

"Daddy!" She jumps up to her feet and probably would have stumbled over the hem of her shirt in her hurry to get to the door if it weren't for Auston catching her in time to prevent it. Her excitement is so heartfelt and adorable that he can't help the smile—no matter how often he has seen it, it will probably always be cute. Will always make his heart expand with fondness and amusement. And no matter how often Mitch playfully claims that Ari loves Dylan or Auston more, as much as Auston taunts him about it… there is not one moment Auston has ever truly believed him. 

Ari adores her father. There is no other way to put it. She may love Dylan and Auston, and Connor and Brinks and Alex… but Mitch is her whole world. He's her sun and her moon and the stars. 

Just like she is Mitch's. And like always it's painfully adorable to watch their reunion. See Mitch already on his knees with arms spread wide and ready to catch her when Auston opens the door and she squeezes through the gap the moment it's big enough for her small body. See both their faces light up even more and hear her happy squeals and Mitch's amused chuckle. 

"Daddy, you're here!" 

"I am, sweetie, but probably not much longer if you continue to choke me like that." 

(As if Auston couldn't see how white his knuckles are from holding onto her.) 

Mitch laughs as he lifts her up so that they can enter the apartment, Ari's arms slung around his neck, fighting with the overlong sleeves of the shirt to hug him properly. 

"I missed you, daddy. Did you miss me, too?" 

"Of course, I always miss you." He says it with so much sincerity that it makes something clench inside Auston's chest. How often he's heard Mitch saying these words he doesn't know, but it's always in the exact same voice. It's different from the one he uses when he whispers the words to Auston in the late hours of the night before they fall asleep, or during a phone call. Or after they have been apart for a couple of weeks. 

It's different, but the effect is the same. 

Mitch's face is still pressed into Ariella's dark shiny hair, still not meeting Auston's eyes for more than a fleeting second. As if he's avoiding him, drawing out the moment until he has to look up at him. But if this means that he's feeling guilty then Auston will take it.

Finally, he puts Ari down. 

"Uhm, what are you wearing, Peach?" 

"Auston's shirt."

"Really? It looks so good on you, and it’s just a tiny bit too long." 

"It really is! He gave it to me. I can wear it to be a princess."

"That is really nice of him. Do we have to call you Princess now?" 

For the first time, he really lifts his gaze and searches for Auston's. An amused wink, followed by a grin that is a little too hesitant for Mitch, a little too insecure. That feels a little too satisfying to Auston. He doesn't want to enjoy this unfamiliar and apologetic Mitch so much, but it feels good to see that this is hurting Mitch too. 

So good when Mitch's cheeks flush and he bites his lips until he averts his eyes again and turns his attention to his daughter again. 

"Not you, Daddy, you're special."

"Oh thank you, I'm honoured, your majesty." Mitch puts his hand on his chin. "Wait, does this make me a king?"

She thinks about it for two seconds, looking first at him and then Auston; obviously torn between them, her forehead in wrinkles. But then she shakes her head.

"Auston already is the king." 

"Ughhh, that really hurts, El." With a theatrical gesture he clasps his heart, revels in the way Ariella shakes her head about him, in the way she turns around to look up at Auston; at first only smiling, wide and delighted but then breaking out in a fit of giggles. Just like earlier when she took him for an expedition around his apartment, opening every single door (including the closets) and inspecting every niche and corner, searching for the place where he hid all the colours while holding his hand all the time. When she twirled in his walk-in closet before she made him shove his phone back into his pockets and stop refreshing Twitter. When she pulled him down onto her level and draped one of the most colourful of his shirts around his shoulders. 

Auston doesn't know what his face is showing at that moment, how soft his expression got, but finally, Mitch has overcome his self-consciousness and stands up, thumbs tugged into the straps of his backpack. 

"I really really don't know how to thank you, Auston. That you… honestly. Thank you so much." He leans closer, closer - eyes wide and blue and so very flirty - and then whispers: "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

But somehow this promise doesn’t cause the usual excitement and thrill in Auston; instead it leaves a hollow and ugly feeling in his stomach and he realizes that he is still angry, that those words and their playfulness made it even worse. 

(Everything is a game to Mitch. Everything is easy and he never cares as long he's not the one suffering the consequences.)

"I did it for Ari, not you."

Mitch winces. And for the first time Auston can really detect the guilt in those blue eyes he has only imagined seeing since he opened the door. It's a lot and he wants to feel bad, yet he can't. He just can't. He spent the whole afternoon trying not to let his anger show, to forget about it while he was playing king and princess with Ari or while he heated up their dinner. While his phone vibrated almost constantly with notifications until he finally muted it. 

"I'm really sorry, Aus… please. But I—"

It has been too much and now he can't suppress it anymore. 

"There are pics of me and Ari all over the internet. _Again_." 

The way Mitch visibly pales and flinches is satisfying, but not enough to make Auston stop.

"The Sun tweeted about it. So did every hockey fan in the city. And I ignored at least four calls from my agent." 

"Jesus, fu—" Mitch catches himself in the last second. " _Flush_."

"Come on, Mitch, you sent me to pick up your daughter from a posh French school - the same one not only all of my teammates but probably all of Toronto's celebrities send their kids to? You can't seriously be surprised that someone noticed me? Not after everything that happened in July?" Auston folds his arms in front of his chest. "Please tell me you're not that oblivious. Or… you know, please tell me you are. Because then I won't have to believe that you're fu—that you don't care about how I would feel." 

"No, I—I swear I didn't think about… I'm so, so sorry, please believe me." Biting his lips he looks down, then up at Auston and back over at Ariella, who is standing between them and still struggling with the long sleeves of Auston's shirt. It's probably the reality check that makes Mitch pull himself together. Auston can see him visibly straighten his shoulders and tighten the grasp around on the straps of his backpack. 

"Ella-Bella, can you… can you do me a favour please?" Getting down to his knees, Mitch puts his hands on her arms, smiles. "I need you to get out of that shirt and get your backpack and your shoes, okay? I'll talk a bit with Auston and then we're leaving. It's almost bedtime already and by the time we get home and have dinner it will be waaay past your bedtime. Can you do that for me?"

She nods, her face serious and a little sad. Mitch rarely calls her that, only when he's either worried about her or when he's sad—Auston doesn't know if she picked up on that, but she probably did, because her smile falters and her eyes widen with concern. "Auston and I already had dinner. Chicken wings and baked potatoes. I even ate all my veggies." 

"That's great, sweetie. But now go and change, please. Maybe use the washroom, too, because it’ll be a long ride on the TTC." 

It's obvious that she would rather stay with them but when Mitch raises his eyebrows expectantly she reluctantly leaves. 

"Aus… I don't know what you want me to say but I'm really sorry, I didn't think—"

"Well, yeah. You didn't and now I have my agent calling me for the tenth time and twitter going crazy with speculation. _Again_. Because _you_ didn't _think_."

"You make it sound like I wanted that." 

"I don't know… did you?" 

"My little girl all over media and a headline of the fucking Toronto Sun? _Again_? No, of fucking course not." Mitch's voice is icy just like his eyes. He has mimicked Auston's posture now; arms protectively and defensively in front of his upper body. 

"No, I meant—me being outed." 

"Are you—this isn't… I, you—you're so wrong I don't even know where to start." 

"How about with _thinking_? Oh right, we wouldn't be here if you'd done that in the first place." 

It’s a low blow and the hurt and shock that wash over Mitch's face are almost enough to make Auston regret the words. And maybe if he hadn't spent the afternoon skimming over concerned, curious or angry messages from family, friends and his agent he would have said more, mellowed their impact. Maybe if he didn't spend the evening remembering every single thing that has been written about him last summer, picturing the speculations and insults that he would have to face, then he would have reached for Mitch's arm to quiet them and apologize. 

But right now he is too _pissed_.

And then they can hear Ariella washing her hands and humming happily while she drags her backpack behind her over the hardwood floors. Even without Auston's shirt, she is a bright spot of colour among the sleek black and white surfaces of his condo; a red striped sweater, blue jeans with a ladybug patch on her knee and her green froggy backpack. Her hair bobs with every step, but her eyes are a bit pink and glassy. When she puts her arms around Mitch's legs and rests her head against his thigh she looks tired.

"Listen… Auston, can we, can we do this later? I'll have to get her home, but I'll call you later." 

Mitch's expression is almost exactly the same as hers. Exhausted and sad. But also frustrated, too much to be able to hide it if the confusion on Ariella's face is any give away. 

If it weren't for her Auston would have happily continued their argument. He is still as furious as before and doesn't care if Mitch has been awake since 3 am this morning. So he nods, lowers himself down to say goodbye to Ariella. 

"I hope you had some fun today, Ari, 'cause I did." It's not even a lie and the little smile she shows him, half-hidden behind Mitch's leg, makes him even forget about everything else that is just happening. 

"Peach, can you please say 'thank you' to Auston for the fun playtime? Where is this sudden shyness coming from?" 

"M sleepy." 

"And you want me to carry you to the subway, I'll get it. But please be nice and polite first, Auston spent the whole afternoon with you and cooked you dinner."

"Thank you, Aus." 

"You're very welcome."

And then when Mitch has already lifted her up. "Can I come over for playtime again? I like your house." 

"I'm not sure, Peach, Auston is very busy now that hockey season has started again you know? It's not like summertime anymore where he had lots of time to hang out and play."

Mitch's voice is apologetic and a little sad and Auston could have dealt with cold and anger, with passive-aggressiveness right now—yet hearing him already finding explanations and excuses for his daughter in case… He takes a step back. 

"I'm sorry, sweetie." 

"It's ok, but… but if you miss colours you can come to our house again. Right, Daddy? Because Auston's house doesn't have any and ours has so many. I told him that he can have some of ours. Alex put them everywhere and we don't need so many. I think, think we can give some to Auston…" She rambles on, half asleep and half excited, clearly so done and ready for bed, that she doesn't even realize that Mitch opens the door and steps into the hallway. 

' _I'll call you._ ' He mouths. 

Before he turns away and Auston has to watch them both walk away; Ella's voice sleepily retelling her dad about her day with Auston, Mitch's Blue Jays snapback and both of their backpacks around his shoulders. They don't look back at him, don't wave when they board the elevator. 

When he closes the door and leans against it, he feels empty, like a deep and dark and dry well. His apartment is still beautiful—all modern lines of dark hardwood and white marble, expensive fabric and sleek glass. All clean and quiet.

The only sound that he can hear is the persisting vibration of his phone, and when he finally picks it up and answers his agents call he can't shake the feeling of dread. Of something terrible about to happen.

__

It's way past his usual bedtime during the season, but Auston is still awake. Still sitting on his couch wide awake, waiting for Mitch's call—trying to focus on game recaps because whenever his mind slips away it provides him with the same picture.

Mitch and Ariella in the hallway: her darker head pressed against Mitch's neck, her bright coloured clothes in contrast to Mitch's muted earth tones. Both of them walking away from him, not thinking about him anymore. 

It feels almost like fate. Irreversible. 

As if that was the last time he'd see Mitch. 

__

It's not the last time he sees Mitch. ~~Of course~~. 

__

It's almost midnight when Mitch shows up, and Auston has almost given up waiting for his call. It’s way after Ari's bedtime and with how tired Mitch had looked before Auston wouldn't have been surprised if he had fallen asleep with her. 

Wouldn't have minded and even thought it was adorable if it weren't for the pending argument and the tension between them when Mitch had left. If it weren't for the fact that Auston was still agitated and angry. If it weren't Auston's career at stake and life that would change irrevocably. 

But it is and Auston couldn't forgive Mitch if he abandoned him tonight. If he cared so little about him. 

The ring of the doorbell is abrupt in the darkness of his living room. The only light is coming from the blue-green TV screen; it's strange and eerie, flickering cold shadows from the screen with the speakers muted. The game Auston was watching must have ended a long time ago and there's golf on instead. He had dozed off without meaning to. 

He blinks, disoriented by his dreams mixing with his memories. The things that happened before, the things they said and they are probably going to say. 

This is enough to wake up, to make him stumble through the living room towards the door. 

The scene is so familiar; him opening the door and finding Mitch outside all bundled up for winter, with a warm puffy jacket and a woollen beanie, with red cheeks and bluish lips. Backpack at his side and the helmet already attached to its handle. He's fidgeting, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. 

"Hi… I thought, well… I thought this would be better in person than over the phone. Sorry, I should've called." 

Auston can't disagree so he rather says nothing. Says nothing because he feels some sweet satisfaction seeing Mitch nervous. 

"It took El a while to fall asleep… you know how she gets when she's over-exhausted. And then I had to wait until someone got home before I could leave. Can I—" He looks so hesitant, so insecure when he never has been before. Always walked straight in after Auston opened the door; smile wide and happy, confident that he was welcome, greeting Auston teasingly with a hand on his stomach, a fleeting kiss onto his chin or a whispered remark. 

"Can I come in… or…?"

When Auston finally steps aside and nods, the relief on Mitch's face is obvious, even though the smile he gives him is just as feeble as the one before and there is no touch, no little wink, no promise. 

~~It's wrong~~. 

"Do you want some water? Gatorade?"

Mitch bites his lips, starts to shake his head, but then he stops himself in the middle. "Coffee, maybe? If you don't mind." 

"I wouldn't have asked if I did." It's hard to not roll his eyes. It's not like Mitch hasn't been over enough to be familiar with his kitchen and to be almost at home enough to get himself anything he wanted. The way he's tiptoeing around and acting as if he's walking on eggshells or bothering Auston is just ridiculous and when Auston says so, he laughs almost nervously. 

"Well, it's—whatever. I mean, it's not like you were expecting me."

But he's walking over to the kitchen and switches on the coffee maker, pulls out two mugs from the cabinet. He doesn't hesitate and moves around with ease while he gets out milk, cinnamon and maple syrup—because Dylan has spoiled them both. 

The memory of that first night at Mitch's place where they both talked late at night over coffee is tangible, and suddenly it hits Auston like a punch into his face. Why Mitch is here, why he's not doing this over the phone. 

Suddenly Auston feels like all the oxygen has been sucked out of his lungs, out of the room, and all the warmth in his body has frozen to ice and all his blood turned to acid in his veins. He reaches for the edge of the countertop, has to grasp it to brace himself because he can't hold himself upright anymore—his legs refuse to hold him any longer and his head is spinning. 

MItch is breaking up with him. 

He came to break up with Auston and he's making coffee for the both of them, like that first night when they started their relationship almost a year ago. 

But unlike that first night, Auston doesn't have a say in what's happening with them. Mitch has already decided. it.

The soft click of porcelain against marble when Mitch sets down the mug in front of him rips Auston out of his thoughts, his shock. The colour of its content is a perfect dark caramel and the scent is rich and woody sweet. It makes Auston feel so sick that he wants to shove it away. To throw it against the wall and watch it splatter over his perfect kitchen, his perfect apartment, his fucking life that looks so perfect from the outside and is anything but. 

Instead, he just looks up and meets Mitch's eyes. Looks up and looks at Mitch. 

"You're breaking up with me."

Makes sure that it's not a question. Because it isn't. It's a _fact_. 

Mitch closes his eyes, swallows. Finally, he opens them again and nods. 

"So you left my apartment, went home, put your daughter to bed and then decided that this isn't working for you anymore?" 

"What? No! Of c—" 

"Uh uh, my turn." Auston is almost surprised about the cold in his voice, then again everything inside him is cold. "So you didn't decide today? Did you decide before? Was it two weeks ago when you figured out that seeing each other in secrecy is tough? It was then, right? Or was it even before that? In Tokyo? When you realized that not everything in this relationship is going your way?" 

"Excuse me?!" Mitch's face is so pale that his eyes seem dark and so hard that Auston couldn't have looked away even if he wanted. 

"I hope all the lying and pretending wasn't too hard for you?"

It shouldn't feel good to say this—because Auston doesn't even know where the words that spill out of his mouth are coming from. But his innards are twisted and pure pain and he was never good at letting pain show. 

"But at least you got something out of it, right? Did you at least feel a little bit bad when you called me today and begged me to pick up your daughter from school, risking that some stupid reporter could be there and take pictures of me?" 

"Aus—"

"Yeah, right, you already told me you didn't think about that, but bear with me here—it's hard for me to grasp how you made that decision in like two hours." 

Mitch's mug clanks against the stone counter so hard that the liquid inside sloshes over the rim and spills over his hand and the white marble. If it burns his skin he doesn't show it, maybe doesn't even notice, because his face is a mask and so sharp that Auston feels cut open. 

"Open your mouth one more time and I'm gone." Mitch raises his hand; it's trembling—his whole body is trembling and he's white as a sheet. 

Auston went too far. He knows it; had known it even while he was still speaking, insulting, hurting Mitch with every little word he said. But he's hurting, too. So much that the shock of it makes it impossible to feel the shame he should feel. He wants to close his eyes because Mitch's expression is unbearable for him to watch. And at the same time, he _can't_. 

It may be the last time he gets to see him, and every moment is precious, even while Mitch is breaking his heart. 

But he nods. Bites his lips and digs his fingernails into his palms. Any pain is better than what he feels in his chest. 

"Okay…" The exhale Mitch lets out is audible. With clumsy fingers, he tears off two sheets of paper towel and cleans off the spilled coffee before he rounds the counter and stands in front of Auston. His steps and his stance are so hesitant and insecure that Auston's heart slows down. Stops entirely when Mitch reaches out for him and places his hands around his face—so gentle and barely-there that Auston's not sure if MItch is really touching him or if he's just imagining the contact. 

"You're tired and confused and hurt… so I'm gonna pretend that you didn't say what you just said. Because—because you didn't mean it, right? You didn't mean what you said." 

There's nothing Auston can do but nod again. He didn't, not really. He only ~~wanted~~ needed to hurt Mitch. He _needed_ to protect his own heart even though he knew it was already too late. 

But Mitch is really touching him. ~~For the last time~~. And Auston cocks his head so that he can press his cheek into Mitch's palm, soak up his affection and his tenderness—all the pity and regret and love that Mitch emanates and spends so freely on him despite the ugliness Auston just spilled on him. 

"It's not because I don't love you, Aus… because I do—oh god, I do. So much." Mitch's voice sounds wrecked, clouded and hoarse with emotions while he brushes his thumb over the thin and tender skin under Auston's eyes. While he traces his brows and follows the shape of his lips. 

"It's because I love you… because I'm afraid that I can't do it anymore if this goes on any longer."

It makes no sense, not right now; maybe it will tomorrow or some day far, far away in the future. Only right now Auston doesn't understand it. 

"If it were just me, I'd be okay. I wouldn't mind being your secret, I swear, Auston. I'd be okay. But it's not just me, and I can't—I can't do that to El anymore." 

Auston's hands come up automatically from where he kept them lying in his lap and they reach for Mitch's wrists, to stop their movement, to feel the soft skin, to trace the bluish veins of his pulse. Mostly to stop Mitch, he thinks, or to pull him closer because Mitch takes another step towards him, between his spread legs, so that his body is warm against Auston's. 

(It probably looks like an embrace and not like a breakup.) 

"In the last couple of weeks, I found myself lying to her… and I never did that. I'm always honest, always have been… The hiding I can do, even the lying maybe. But I can't—I can't tell her to lie, Aus. Not even if it's to protect her, and I know, I know it's not like you—" he stops to take a breath. "It's not your fault, Aus, but—"

"It kind of is, right? You're lying for me, because of me." 

Mitch doesn't answer; but he doesn't have to. His silence is enough. 

"Because I'm not out."

Finally, Mitch nods. 

"What happened, Mitch… please, you have to give me something here. What are you talking about? I'm—begging you." 

"It's just—she likes you so much? It kind of broke my heart a little bit when I had to lie to her after the game. And then… I found myself lying to you because I didn't want to hurt you because I promised that I, that I wouldn't—and I won't. But I can't do this anymore." Soft strands of hair fall into Mitch's face when he lowers his head, obscuring him from Auston, and he wants to brush them away but at the same time, he can't let go of Mitch's hands. Feels like Mitch could dissolve right in front of his eyes if he lets go of him. The stuttering still makes no sense to Auston: it's like he's trying to run through cool water that is draining all the strength from his body, fighting against waves that want to pull him down and the only thing he can do is wait. Wait and keep breathing while Mitch hiccups through all the thoughts running through his head. 

"When El got into that fight last week, it was like a punch into my face. I had to do something and the only thing I could think of was telling her that she can't talk about you, that none of her friends could know about you… but it felt so wrong because I couldn't give her an explanation, no one that she would've understood. I mean, how do you explain homophobia to a six-year-old girl? I told her to lie. I told my sweet little girl to lie." 

"Mitch… Mitch, look at me." Auston whispers. "What fight? And what lie? When did you lie to me?"

But he knows. Suddenly he knows, and he wants to throw up.

"You didn't take her home until I texted you, right? You made that up so that I wouldn't feel bad?" 

For a second Mitch looks at him with a horrified expression, so horrified that Auston thinks - _hopes_ \- that he's wrong; until he realizes that Mitch is only horrified because he never meant to spill this. Because that's exactly what he did. 

"I didn't—" 

Auston stops him; he has to. It's too painful. 

(To watch Mitch struggling. Tormenting himself. Lying over and over. Protecting Auston.)

"Tell me about the fight." It's easier to focus on that, easier to get Mitch to focus on that. Easier to focus on that than the fact that Mitch is breaking up with him right now.

"El… she— she got into a fight last week in the schoolyard. With a boy that was a couple of years older than her. He—I only know from the teachers and Ella… but apparently he said something bad about you? And Ella, she wanted to defend you and told him about the vacation in Scottsdale and how amazing you are with her, that you're her special friend and that you spend a lot of time with me. But, but—" he immediately waves his hands to placate Auston when he realizes what he has said and how Auston normally would react to a revelation like this. A gesture that feels like a blow to Auston's face. "…no worries, he didn't believe it, called her a liar. Which kind of led to her pushing him and screaming at him." 

"Is she alright?" 

Mitch nods. 

"Yeah, she's… she's fine but she was so upset the whole day after I picked her up. She got her first detention." For a second he looks almost a little bit proud, but then he pulls himself together. "I had a hard time calming her down afterward, explaining to her again that she can't talk about you, that you're a special person and that we're special because so many people want to get to know you but we're lucky that you're our friend. That so many people in Toronto are just jealous because they want to get to know you, too and that that boy only called her a liar because it's so hard to believe that you're her friend." 

The heartbreak and the sadness on his face are so palpable, so open Auston can almost feel something inside his chest die while he listens to Mitch's wretched voice.

"I told her that she can't get into fights with stupid boys like that and you're our secret… but it went against everything I believe in to tell her that. She cried so much that night, Auston, it was—I wanted to tell her that she did a good thing standing up for you, something very brave. Instead, I told her that she has to apologize to that nasty boy and admit that she made everything up, and—"

Auston wants to turn away, to avert his gaze and never look at Mitch again. 

(It’s not the first time in his life he really feels ashamed. But it’s the first time that he’s afraid he can’t make it right anymore.) 

But he can't. He's physically not capable of _not_ looking at Mitch. Because it's the least he can do. Because it's what he deserves. 

"I'm sorry, Mitch… you have no idea. I never wanted that. Not for Ari, not for you." It's the only truth that Auston knows, has ever known. 

"Yeah." 

Mitch blinks, takes his hands again—as if he believes him. And maybe that's the only truth that counts; the one that Mitch can see. 

When Auston finally makes himself to continue his voice is as hoarse as Mitch's—layered and thick with futile hope. 

"I'd… I'll come out." 

It's enough to make Mitch smile again, wide and beautiful but it crumbles faster than it appeared and too soon for Auston to soak it up. Then Mitch shakes his head. Once, twice and once more until it's only a shadow, a sad reflection of his truly happy smile. Small, but still beautiful and Auston never wants to see it again. 

He's lying because it would have been enough to make him fall in love with Mitch if he had never seen the real one. He's lying because it's enough to make him fall more in love with Mitch even though he has. He's lying because it has to be enough from now on. 

"You're not ready." 

"I am. I can do it. It'd be worth it."

"No… not if you're doing it only for us. You have to do it for yourself."

"Being with you would be for me."

"Maybe… but maybe you'd end up hating me. I don't—I can't risk that." 

Mitch inches closer, kills the last of the space between them. He hasn't taken his eyes from Auston once and his gaze is so heavy that it takes away Auston's breath along with every shred of hope.

For a long long time, no one of them speaks. 

There is so much Auston wants to say, but nothing that he can. 

For a long, long time, neither of them moves. 

Their fingertips tingle against each other's skin; for the first time Mitch's is cold and Auston has no warmth left to heat him up. 

For a long time, neither of them breathes. 

Too afraid of the next step. That would break them apart. 

Mitch is standing between his spread legs, taller than Auston for probably the first time ever. They are close; physically. Emotionally. And at the same time, the distance between them is insurmountable. Wider than an ocean. They are holding hands again, but at the same time, Mitch is as untouchable as the moon. They are together, they want to be, but at the same time, they're both aware that this is the reason they can't. 

Auston doesn't know who moves first. But finally, they both inhale again. And finally, Mitch steps back and Auston releases him. Or the other way around. He doesn't know. Doesn't care—not right now. (Maybe he would one day, maybe it just would break his heart again.)

Finally, they break apart—with a whisper and a noise. With a fleeting lingering brush of fingertips over lips. Gentle and warm like a bandaid over a bleeding wound. 

With a kiss and a plea. A head shake and another kiss. 

With quiet footsteps on hardwood floors and the too-loud click of the entrance door. 

With their combined scent of lime and pines, of cinnamon and leather that's still lingering on Auston's cushion from the last weekend that Mitch spent at his place. It's better and worse here in his bed, and he pulls the blanket over him. He feels too empty to not be surrounded by Mitch right now. 

Their words, their reasons. Their feelings. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me and please trust me. I know where I'm going with this.  
> And if you hate me... can I bribe you to like me again when I tell you that there will be an epilogue after chapter 11? 
> 
> I hope you still leave me some feedback because I'm sooo nervous about what you all think. All your comments have been so great and amazing and they are the reason I love to write.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this is it. The last chapter.  
> Wow, it has really been a ride. I've never published something that long. For about 1,5 years this story has been in my heart and mind and I really have no words to express how overwhelmed I am about all the comments and kudos this has received from all of you. 
> 
> You all have been so kind and so encouraging and you brought me so much happiness with every single one of your comments. ♥ 
> 
> I hope this last chapter is worth the wait and it offers some distraction from everything that is happening in the world right now. 
> 
> Stay safe, everyone and take care.

' _Surreal_.' 

That is literally the first thing that comes to his mind when he wakes up the next morning to the winter grey fog that's hanging low between the high rising buildings and over the lake. 

It's too much for him to grasp and comprehend. That there is no Mitch in his life anymore. That the world is not shattered and in pieces and nothing has changed—nothing except the hollowness inside his chest. 

A Mitch-shaped hole inside him, in his life. 

Auston has never felt like this. There has always been sadness, or anger, or relief when he broke up with someone; an emotion he could analyze and put a name on. But now there’s _nothing_. What he feels is bigger. Heavier. It's so oppressing that he's afraid it could drown him, pull him under and swallow him. 

Over the last couple of months, Mitch had become a part of his life and he had started to think of a future with him, had started to stop thinking of a future without him. 

This new life became a part of him and he can't believe that it's over. 

It still feels as if he could call Mitch now and he would pick up the phone and Auston could tell him about his ~~nightmare~~ dream. And then Mitch would laugh, pull the phone closer and snuggle deeper into his cushion or he would turn the phone around so that Auston could see Ari sleeping next to him. 

Except that he knows he can't. 

Mitch wouldn't pick up. Mitch wouldn't laugh. 

Mitch isn't part of him anymore. 

__

Auston doesn't know how he makes it through practice the next day, how he manages it without anyone noticing. But then again it's hockey—the only thing he knows by heart and the only thing that’s always helped distract him from everything else. The crisp clean scent of the ice hitting his face, the hint of salt and iron whenever he adjusts his skates or crashes into the boards… it makes it easy to focus on his movements and the puck, of getting where he wants to, passing the puck where he needs to. Makes it possible to forget about anything that isn't his teammates' banter, their coaches’ yells and the sweat that is dripping from his temples and into his neck after the drills. 

But the moment he's back in the locker room all the memories are back and with them the hollowness. The urgent demands of his agent to give him an explanation, an order on how to deal with the recent ‘situation’ as he calls it. As if Auston can think clearly about that—as if Auston wants to think about it. 

It doesn't matter because he has to, and so he walks over to Patty's stall. 

"Hey… ugh, this is probably weird, but can I come over later?" 

Patty looks up at him, hands finishing the task of unwrapping the tape around his shins automatically. There is a small line on his forehead, but he nods right away. 

"That's not weird at all. It's only weird that you haven't been around lately. The boys missed you." 

"I know… sorry about that." Auston rubs his neck, feeling slightly guilty because it's been a long time since he took the time to accept one of the Marleau's dinner invitations. 

"I'll text Christina that you're joining us for dinner, 'kay? And then, after, you can tell us what's up with you."

"Sounds great, yeah, thanks." 

"But you have to come at least an hour before dinner time to tire out my kids, that's my only condition."

It's an easy one and they both laugh while they fistbump over their little deal. 

Most of the guys shower and head off to either see trainers or drive home but Auston only changes into his work out gear to hit the treadmill. Going back to his condo isn't an option, and as long he's working out he's not lying to his agent about being too busy to call him back. 

He spends another hour in the gym, lifting weights, doing push-ups and running on the treadmill until his shirt is soaked with sweat and his muscles are burning. The volume of his headphones is turned up so high that he can ignore his trainer's worried questions and the rapid beating of his heart until finally his reason kicks in and tells him that it's enough. 

At least the showers are thankfully empty, just like the hallways of the training facility, so no one is there to watch him checking his messages for the first time since last night. Pictures of Bree and Alex shopping for dresses for Thanksgiving, of his mama reluctantly modelling a beautiful caramel shoulder bag and waving awkwardly for the snap. A worried text by Zach if he's okay. A teasing invitation from Willy to spend the holiday with him and his family ‘even though he's sure that Auston has better plans', followed by the red-faced thirsty smiley. 

Auston ignores them all. 

It's not like he should have expected a message from Mitch, but he kind of did—it's just another moment where it hits him again, even though he spent the last three hours doing nothing but try to escape the truth. 

He dresses mechanically and then decides against going home and instead kills two hours mindlessly shopping in the boutiques on Bloor Street and then another at Indigo and the LCBO buying books for the boys and wine for Patty and Christina; he may look like a slob when he shows up for dinner in his sweats and hoodie but at least he brings classy gifts. Not that any of the Marleaus cares about either. 

After spending almost two hours running around the house with four boys and playing mini-sticks with them in the basement, Auston almost regrets the treadmill and he's pretty thankful to sit down at the kitchen counter and catch up with Christina while she's stirring the content of various pots on the stove and occasionally checking on the chicken in the oven. She laughs brightly when he tells her about his gym session. 

"Oh god, you've clearly neglected us lately if you forgot that four boys are more demanding than an hour in the gym." 

"I agree," Patty returns from upstairs where he'd been making sure the boys got into their PJs without getting distracted. "You haven't been around a lot lately, or like at all. But I have a feeling that you're going to tell us the reason for that tonight?"

Christina grabs her glass of wine and leans over the counter. "I bet it's a lady, please tell me it's a girl?" 

She looks so hopeful and maybe Auston should have expected this but… it's still a blow, and he also feels sick that he has to disappoint her. She and Patty have always teased him about his lifestyle, joked that he's not boyfriend material yet but that he would be one day and how they would love to see it. 

He doesn't even have to shake his head for her to realize how wrong she is, because she stops smiling and then rounds the corner to put her small hand on his back; a warm and caring touch, comforting like a mother’s. Patty looks at them both, a little bit worried, a little bit sorry, a little bit insecure about what to do like the dad that he is. 

The tension in the room breaks apart when the boys storm back into the kitchen, all of them in their pyjamas but as loud and lively as ever, and Patty laughs. 

"I thought you were going to tire them out, Auston. Didn't we have a deal?" 

He shrugs, teases back. "I have more time with your lovely wife if it takes you longer to put them to bed." 

"I knew you had ulterior motives." 

But after dinner they quickly divide the tasks between the three of them, working together like they have been used to from the time Auston had been an almost weekly guest at the Marleaus’ house. Christina takes over the kitchen, claiming that she has to deal with the kids the whole day, while Patty and Auston accompany the boys upstairs; watching Jagger and Caleb rock-paper-scissoring over Auston and complaining loudly afterward so that they all pile up in Jagger's room for a short ghost story that Patty reads with different voices like the pro dad he is. 

It's so much fun that Auston doesn't think much about how different this storytime is than the one with Ariella until they climb down the stairs and join Christina in the cozy seating area of the living room. 

"So… spill, rookie." 

"Not a rookie anymore," he protests, but his heart isn't in it. Auston knew that this moment would come—it's the reason he came over in the first place. Yet it's hard to actually talk about it… hell, he still can't even think about it or believe that Mitch really broke up with him. 

"You'll always be a rookie compared to me, sorry to break that to you." Patty nudges him softly before leaning back and reaching for his glass of wine. "You've also spent more than one Christmas and Thanksgiving with us, which unofficially makes you a member of this family."

"That's true, Auston, we get to baby you," Christina chimes in. "Especially if you neglected us the last months without giving us a proper explanation for your absence. We missed you." 

"I'm sorry." 

"But at least you looked happy before… I mean, I didn't want to pry or assume but—you've been seeing someone?"

"I… yeah, I was." Auston almost stumbles over the past tense. "It's over."

"We're so sorry, darling." 

"You don't have to—it was my fault." A deep inhale. And then suddenly everything spills out of him… Mitch, Ariella, the time they spent in Arizona, the paparazzi, the pressure. The feelings he developed and still has. ~~That probably won't ever go away~~. The different opinions and fears they had to face and that caused them to split up. 

Suddenly talking about it is so easy… because they are not his family, even though they kind of are. Because they are not his friends, even though they are. Patty and Christina are in-between; with his best interests in mind. Concern and compassion and also the right amount of distance to not pity him, to offer guidance and consult. 

Because they have between them what he didn't know he wanted. 

Christina's arms are warm around his shoulders by the time he has ended his story, small and reassuring while she presses her cheek against his and her lips upon his temples as he slides through the folder with pictures on his phone. 

It's painful and also therapeutic. Because it makes it more true—both the breakup and also their relationship. With her little fingers and her kind words, she reminds him of his mama while Patty sits next to them and watches them. Just as quiet, but supportive in a way his father would have never been. 

"She's so adorable. They… both are. But Ariella really looks a lot like you. I get why someone would assume she's a cousin. Is her mom Mexican, too?" Christina turns the phone so that she can zoom into the picture before she shows it to Patty, cooing softly. 

"No… she's Persian, I think. At least that's what I got from Mitch."

"Persian… that means a big and wealthy family, super tight knitted and heavily involved?"

"I—I'm not sure? I guess? They're apparently paying for Ari's school and she probably already has a trust fund, but apart from that Mitch is pretty adamant about him being the one who cares for her."

"Oh… I just figured because of the Gucci dress."

Auston feels the heat in his cheeks; it's silly because there's nothing he should be embarrassed about, only he kind of is—remembers Willy's jokes, or Mitch's eye roll when Ari modelled the dress for him, paired with her sparkly sandals from the dollar store. 

"That's… I bought that for her." 

Christina and Patty both laugh, and then reluctantly Auston joins them because he deserves it. Because it's better than being heartbroken even though it's only for a few seconds. Because the memory fills him with warmth and happiness before the reality settles back in. 

"She looks very cute. You know I'm a bit jealous that you get to dress a little girl whereas I…" Christina trails off, sighs exaggeratedly. But then her expression suddenly becomes more serious again, almost sad, and she slides closer to Auston again, wraps her arms around his upper body and places her cheek against his shoulder. 

"When we started this… thing— this relationship, Ari was the biggest hang-up for me. I didn't want to date someone with a kid, I wasn't ready. Not that Mitch was looking for someone to fill the dad-role, but… She grew on me so much."

"Kids have a habit of doing that—no matter if you're ready or not." Patty muses, and when it's clear that Auston is lost for more words he clears his throat. "Can I be honest?" 

' _Sure_.' Auston nods while he takes a sip of the bourbon Patty poured him a while ago. The alcohol burns in his throat, but it's also comforting and relaxing. 

"We wondered when we saw the articles this summer, the way you always looked so happy, so settled and calm and confident about yourself that didn't have anything to do with hockey, but we didn't want to assume."

"Yeah, I know, it was obvious." Auston is a lot of things but he's not totally dumb—he knows how he looked and felt last season, during the relationship with Mitch. How he carried himself. 

"Only if someone knows you. But we're glad that you told us."

"Too late…" A shrug, self-deprecating and loaded with disdain. "You would’ve told me to come out and be honest."

Christina shakes her head. "Mitch is right… if you're not ready it would've also torn you apart. This isn’t something you can force, and even if you're hurting now, even if I want to grab this boy and shake him for the pain he's putting you through, I get why he did what he did. You're at different places in life right now."

"He's hurting, too. I know it." 

"If everything you've told us is true then he is." 

"I want him back. I don't think I've ever wanted anything as much as that." Auston's words surprise himself, the truth of his feelings shock him even. 

Patty's hand cradling his neck is big and warm, not belittling him, only tousling Auston's hair while Christina slowly pulls herself away from him and gets up. Auston can almost hear them communicating silently over his back before Christina presses another kiss to the crown of his head. 

"You have to give it time, give yourself time. I mean, obviously, I can't talk from experience, but I'm sure the day will come when you're ready and then…" Patty trails off. "Maybe you'll get another chance." 

From his words, Auston can't really tell if he means Auston-and-Mitch or just Auston, but maybe it's not important because right now he can't see it: can't see himself coming out, or Mitch waiting all the years it would probably take Auston to be ready. Can't see himself ever falling for someone else like he did for Mitch. 

So he shakes his head. 

' _Not with Mitch_.' But he doesn't say it. It's nothing he can explain and nothing that he even wants to think about. He just allows himself to fall back against the couch and closes his eyes. The exhaustion of an almost sleepless night and the intense workout is finally taking its toll on him; his knees feel weak, his body is cold and his eyes sting. Only Patty's warm grip upon his shoulder keeps him grounded: silent but comforting. 

"You can't think like that…" Christina comes back and presses a huge mug of hot chocolate into his hands. She didn't top it up with a dollop of cream and cinnamon like his mama would have done, but it's still warming and sweet—close enough to make him give her a smile. "You've overcome so much and you've mastered so many challenges… even if you think your heart is broken, even if you're sadder than sad. Life goes on and time heals almost everything."

Auston knows that she's right. Then again, she has a picture-perfect life with one of the best people he ever got to know. She never fucked up the greatest thing in her life because she was too scared. But he keeps his words to himself and just nods, leans up to her touch as she places a short kiss onto the crown of his head. 

"I'll get the guest room ready for you. You're not driving home tonight."

Before Auston can object she's waving him off and then bids him and Patty goodnight. 

It's not the first time that Auston stayed overnight, and not even the first time he's truly thankful for the invitation. But it's the first time not because he's too wasted to drive. It's the first time because he needs it, because he can't stand the thought of going back to his condo. Because his home is not his home anymore. 

__

That night he thinks about Mitch. About Mitch in the little blue house that he shares with his patchwork family. About Mitch in his tiny room, in his small queen size bed—wonders if he's feeling like this. If he's lying awake and sleepless, torturing himself. If he's feeling like he's been ripped apart, like there's a part of him missing. 

If he's suffering like Auston. 

Or if he's curled around his daughter, warm and safe. If he's taking comfort in the knowledge that he did it for her; did the right thing. 

Auston knows he did. 

But it doesn't help. 

He's too selfish. 

__

Of course, Patty doesn't say no to the favour Auston asks of him. Of course, Christina nods right away. Of course, they only look at each other and then back at him, sitting at their breakfast bar and clutching his mug of coffee in his too sweaty hands.

It's a mixture of pity and concern, he can see it.

Auston still feels like shit, for asking. For hanging out at their house like the miserable fuck up that he is. For making them part of his web of lies. 

But he'll take it. Has only one other option at this point. And that's not really an option because it would take too much of him. Would only separate him further from Mitch. 

__

Mitch texts him that evening; a short message asking when Auston's at home so that he can drop off the stuff that Auston left at their house. That Auston can keep everything that Mitch forgot in his condo. 

It's a short exchange, but every single ping of his phone shakes him to the core. 

If there was any chance that Mitch would bring the things in person Auston would have given him a time. But he's 110% sure that it would either be Dylan or Alex and he can't deal with either of them. 

So he just replies to Mitch that there’s no need. It’s not like Auston can’t afford to buy everything again. 

He contemplates going through his closet and sorting out all the clothes that Mitch brought over during their relationship and packing away the toiletries that found their way into his cabinets. He even gets a huge paper bag from his last shopping spree to store them away—somewhere he doesn’t have to see them anymore. But then he can’t bring himself to clean out Mitch’s hoodies and sweats or remove the toothpaste and toothbrush from the counter. 

It feels too much like erasing memories, to wipe away the proof that Mitch has been here. That they spent so much time in this apartment—shared a life here. That Mitch has been part of his life for so long that he took up visual space and was more than a beautiful dream.

And selfishly Auston hopes that Mitch also still looks at his stuff, holds onto it; glad that Auston didn’t want it back. He hopes that Mitch still wears his clothes as he did before. That Mitch still likes having a part of Auston in his life. 

__

He tells Willy about the breakup three days later; reluctantly and mostly because Willy guessed it already. 

They’re the last ones in the gym and it's still so fresh and painful that Auston can't believe it really happened. That it's still the first thing he remembers in the morning and the last thought he falls asleep to at night. 

Talking about it again makes it a little more real—just like seeing Willy's reaction; the disbelief, the shock and the unavoidable pity. 

It's the first break up Willy doesn't make fun of or doesn't congratulate him for his newfound freedom. 

It's the first break up Willy puts his arms around him and hugs him tightly, completely ignoring the fact that Auston is sweaty and gross and just pulls him in and hides his face in Auston's neck; breath warm and damp, hands in Auston's hair and voice wretched. 

It's the first break up Willy offers him a place in his guest room instead of a round of shots at the nearest bar. 

They still do that, but it's more a favour Auston does him than because he's in the mood for it. Because Willy looks almost as heartbroken as he feels. 

__

Auston knows there was a time in his life without Mitch—a much longer time even. A time he was content and happy with everything he'd accomplished and everything he had. 

And there'll be a time without Mitch again. 

A time when he can get up in the morning and go to bed at night without him. A time when he stops thinking about him. 

A time when Mitch isn't everywhere Auston looks, everywhere he goes—and with him the thought of their break up. 

He is in Auston's bathroom where he stares at the silly cinnamon toothpaste because Mitch didn't like the too-clean taste of Auston's minty one. He is in the kitchen where Auston finds white chocolate chips and cherries and coconut flakes for Mitch's smoothies. He’s on the way to Etobicoke where they often talked on the phone while Auston was driving to practice.

He is on the floor of the locker room where the huge Maple Leaf logo reminds him of the franchise that Mitch loves and the jersey Mitch wore for him that one night in Scottsdale. 

And with all those reminders comes the realization that they are not together anymore. That it has been an illusion. Not perfect, anything but that. But too good to last. 

And with all those reminders comes the pain. 

Sometimes there’s anger, too. About Mitch who lied and didn't trust Auston to deal with his true feelings and fears. About himself not being ready or strong enough to take the final step and stop caring what others would think about him. 

But most of the time there’s disbelief. 

__

Christmas comes and goes. Auston flies to Scottsdale for three too-short days where he eats his weight in churros dipped in chocolate sauce and where his sisters abduct him for cuddle piles on the couch and ‘Die Hard’ and Netflix romcoms so that he doesn't have time to think about the sound of Ari's wet footsteps on his tiles or how warm his sheets smelled of Mitch. 

It’s gotten better, but it's far from good. 

Then there's New Year at Freddie's apartment, with cod and mustard sauce and lots of booze. They all eat slices of a monstrosity called ‘Kransekage’ that tastes only slightly better than the licorice liquor that Willy brought from his last trip to Sweden and that almost makes Auston puke. At midnight everybody scrambles onto chairs and tables and sofas (or in Kappy's case the kitchen counter while his girlfriend begged him to come down before he broke his leg) and jumped into 2021. 

And the only thing Auston feels while he's hugging and kissing everyone around him is a relief that the year Mitch broke up with him is finally over. 

New year, new chances. 

__

The morning before the All-Star game he discovers the February issue of GQ at Pearson Airport. He doesn’t look for it, had almost forgotten about it. Maybe he wouldn't have even noticed it if it weren't for Willy's awkward and almost comical contortions whenever they walked past one of the magazine stands. 

Only, he knows he's lying to himself because it's hard to miss. Because Mitch's face is still etched into his brain like lightning and he still can't go three days without thinking of him; his voice, his scent, his smile. 

It's like a signal fire and he doesn't mean to but he almost shoves Willy aside when he steps in front of him, trying to distract him by talking about getting Starbucks or checking out the Lebanese restaurant that Naz recommended. 

"Auston…" 

He can feel Willy's hand on his shoulder, but Auston ignores it just like the protest and concern in his voice as he picks up the issue with Mitch on the cover. He didn't know that Mitch made the cover—Mitch probably didn't either. There's no chance he would have let Auston hear the end of it, that he made it to the cover of a US magazine whereas Auston just got a lame eight-pages spread. 

It's a good picture. Like a fist into his stomach, like a blanket that makes him shiver with warmth. 

Mitch is lying on turquoise painted pavement, hands twisted in his messy hair as if he just woke up: looking directly into the camera, eyes slightly hazy and big, mouth soft and relaxed. His chest is bare, half covered by an unzipped Saint Laurent jacket. There is a lot of colour in the picture: the concrete, the rainbow colours of the jacket, the blue strand of Mitch's hair and yet the only thing Auston can focus on are Mitch's eyes. 

He swallows. 

"Auston… I don't think—"

Maybe Willy is right, maybe it isn't smart. Maybe he's not ready. But that doesn't stop him from buying it. 

Willy follows him reluctantly over to the seats at the gate, still pouting while he observes Auston over the rim of his coffee mug. 

"I didn't know you were into self-torture." 

Auston shrugs. 

"But I get it… I mean, if it were my ex I would have wanted to see it, too." He leans closer, nudges Auston's shoulder—a mixture of impatience and understanding. "Come on, rip the bandaid off."

If Auston had thought he was prepared he was wrong. He wasn't. He was anything but prepared. And if he thought the cover picture was a punch to his guts he has also been wrong. 

The photoshoot is worse. Way worse. 

Because it's _Mitch_ ; purely and utterly Mitch and everything he has missed since he last saw him in November. It's worse because it's an unattainable and breathtakingly beautiful version of Mitch. 

Eyes bright and mischievous, he's sitting on the diving board of an empty pool, glad in some ripped flower shirt and crisp expensive looking dress pants (it's GQ, of course, they're not only expensive-looking); laughing wide and joyful into the camera while displaying the long column of his throat and the delicate wings of his collarbones. Then in the next picture he’s leaning against a rusty fence with his head turned to the side, fingers hooked around the wire and staring into the distance, lost in thought. 

Another one shows Mitch standing on a wrecked old couch wearing a pink creation that's more tent than a coat and shimmery leather pants that are so tight they could be painted on; against his bare chest he's holding the fluffiest white puppy Auston has ever seen. It should be ridiculous and he remembers how Mitch made fun of this particular picture, but seeing it now, it's not ridiculous anymore. Mitch looks like a spoiled rich kid that got denied something for the first time in his life with his lips curled to an adorable pout—so much the way he always looked when Auston told him that he had to leave very early in the morning, or when Dylan told him to eat his veggies because he wouldn't get ice cream after dinner otherwise. 

But Auston's favourite is probably the one that shows Mitch lying on the side of the pool, left arm dangling over the edge and holding his skateboard—the one that he used on his final run in Tokyo, the one with Ariella's drawing on the bottom. He's wearing a pair of neon splattered baggy jeans and a Hermes Carre wrapped around his wrist and nothing else. His skin is glistening in the warm light of the setting sun and he's still tanned from the months of summer. Auston's mouth goes dry like sandpaper as his eyes track the lines of Mitch's body; the dip between his hip bones, the arches of his rib cage and soft curves of his pecs—but it's nothing against the sudden longing, the pain inside his chest when he takes in the expression of Mitch's face that is turned towards the camera: spent and exhausted, almost defeated and broken, but also defiant and strong, sharp as shards of glass. 

The way Mitch sometimes looked at him. The way he looked at him the night he showed up at Auston's place to end their relationship. 

It's the essence of Mitch, distilled into one image and printed in high quality on glossy expensive paper as if he's mocking Auston. 

They were still together when those pictures had been taken, and they had both made fun of them. How from all the pieces Mitch could have picked to keep he decided on the stupid silk scarf instead of the Omega watch or the classic pale blue Burberry trench. Now Auston doesn't feel like making fun of the photos anymore. 

Now he feels adrift, lost. Like a bottomless well filled with countless memories and even more emotions. Everything he had thought he had started to leave behind… it's back like a whiplash, was probably never gone and just buried. Because it's as painful as the day they broke up. And every page Auston turns is like another blow and he doesn't know when he stopped breathing. 

Beside him Willy probably stops breathing, too, because he goes rigid, eyes only on the glossy pages, not even giving him a sideways glance to gauge his reaction. Because he flinches with surprise when Auston finally looks up at him. 

" _Jesus_ ," an exhale, loud, a little whiny. Pitying. "Did you know that this was basically Miami Vice meets K-pop meets Pornhub?"

Against his will Auston laughs; it's mostly a snort, but it's admittedly better than a sob. 

(Willy is also right.)

"I'm suddenly super glad we're not rookies anymore and have to share rooms." Willy waggles with his eyebrows and grins. 

"I won't jerk off over pictures of my ex! That's like… super inappropriate." 

With a hand wave, Willy brushes his protest away. 

" _Please_ … if that’s not spank bank material then I don't know what is. I mean, he's basically shirtless all the time and he's… well, hot. Sorry." He doesn't look even remotely sorry. "If that were my ex I'd either rub one off or cry. And honestly, you’ve done enough crying already."

"I didn't cry. At. All." (It's the truth.) 

"Well, maybe that's the problem." 

"Are you saying that you're bored of me being mopey?" 

"Oh god, no! Honestly… no, sorry." This time he really looks like he is, almost looks like he's pleading for Auston to forgive and understand him. "It's really not like that… just, I'm not used to seeing you like this, so lost and solemn all the time. But then again I've never seen you in love before either." 

Auston doesn't know what to say. He can't deny it, and he can't be upset with Willy because he’s just telling the truth. Auston was in love with Mitch—he probably still is. But he's also not ready to move on yet. No matter how much he hates being like this. 

"I'm not telling you to get over it or pull yourself together," Willy shakes his head as if to underline his intention. "I'm just… I mean, I'm not sure what I'm trying to say. This is… a lot."

"No shit." Auston rolls his eyes. 

"I'm sorry."

"And what for exactly? Me seeing this, or me fucking up? Because it's all my fault, no need to be sorry. You—you warned me." 

"It's not about that… It's just—you've been so happy and I always want that for you." Willy shrugs. "I know I joked about it and teased you, but I never really meant it. I wish—"

Auston turns around and interrupts him because he knows. He knows what Willy is attempting to say and he doesn't need to hear it. He's also sure he doesn't _want_ to hear it. Feeling Willy's body pressed against his side is the support he needs. 

So he shrugs again; softly so that he doesn't jostle Willy off and takes a sip of his coffee. The magazine is still on his lap, showing him another devastating picture of Mitch hugging his skateboard: a close up in black and white, eyes downcast and hair falling into his face—the main focus is probably supposed to be on the classical but super fancy Omega Olympic Games collection watch, but the only thing Auston can stare at is the shadow of Mitch's eyelashes, the soft freckles and the lush curve of his upper lip. 

He closes it. 

"Yeah, me too." 

"No… I meant, I've never felt anything like that for someone… and yeah, I wish I did."

"Well, be careful what you wish for because if you fuck it up, it fucking sucks." 

"I know, but it also changed you—not the breakup, but like, the stuff before, and it's not... it's not a bad thing." 

Willy doesn't meet his eyes as he grabs Auston's shoulder to push himself upright. He reaches for the magazine and winds it from Auston's grip before he can hold onto it. 

"You'll get it back, don't worry. But we've got to board this plane now, and I don't want to hand you over to your mom looking like a sad kicked puppy. So we're gonna get some drinks on the plane, watch a Jane Auston movie and then land in Miami fresh and happy."

"And drunk."

"Better drunk than sad, right?"

__

The house still looks the same: brightly illuminated and filled with life and warmth; toys, boots and skateboards scattered on the front porch; footsteps, muted yells and laughter audible even in the front yard.

The swing's upholstery is new, just like Ariella's rain boots and the pattern of the curtain behind the front door that separates the little entrance hallway from the living room. 

But everything else looks the same and it's like no time has passed when it's been almost half a year and Auston doesn't know if that's the reason he can feel his knees trembling and his chest constrict with that familiar heaviness. 

It's been almost half a year and everything has changed. 

Everything except one thing. 

It's the reason he's here and the reason he gathers all his strength and courage to finally knock on the embedded window panes of the door, holding his breath until he thinks his lungs are about to burst and his heart is beating out of his chest. For ten long seconds, he thinks that no one has heard him, that no one will open the door and that he can leave, that he did everything he could, but then there's a voice and hurrying footsteps. And then he's looking into Dylan's amused and happy face.

And then he's watching this expression falter and turn into shock and anger. 

Auston can't even blink before he gets shoved back and Dylan steps out onto the porch with him, quickly shutting the door behind him; as if he's afraid Auston could have a glimpse into the living room, could sneak a glance of Mitch or make eye contact with him. 

"Are you—I can't believe you." He hisses; every trace of the former elation is gone and his eyes have turned hard, furious almost, like the lines around his mouth. The imprint of his fingertips against Auston's chest is sharp, burning hot—not really painful, but stinging with contempt. 

"You're really… Wow." Another shove, that makes Auston stumble back; less because of the impact, more because of the hatred in Dylan's voice. "I always thought you were a bit spoiled and a fool, but now I know you're actually just an asshole."

"Dyl—"

"Don't… just don't, okay? What were you thinking? Showing up here as if nothing happened? I mean, I get that your world revolves around you and people usually fall head over heels for you or do everything you want, but this is… _We're not like that_. Do you know how hard this was for Mitch? And Ella-Bella? How long it took her to comprehend that you're not coming back? Did you think about that?" 

There’s nothing Auston can say, nothing that isn't true and that he hasn't thought about a hundred times. So he lets Dylan drag him to the other end of the porch, out of the yellow light and the line of sight from the dining table. He can handle Dylan any day; he may have one or two inches on him, but Auston's a professional athlete who could probably bench press him. If it helps Dylan to blow off some steam, he will take it. 

He will take it because he deserves it, because he hurt Mitch. He will take it if that's what he has to do to see Mitch. 

Finally, Dylan releases him and exhales, but his eyes remain cold as he stares at Auston with his hands folded across his chest. 

"Are you done?" He asks when it's clear that Dylan won't add any more insults. Just because Auston deserves them doesn't mean that he's willing to listen to more of it—it's nothing he hasn't thought about himself before. "Cause as much fun this is, it's not what I came for." 

"If you think I'll let you talk to Mitch you're even dumber and crazier than I thought." Dylan actually snorts. 

" _I_ think that is between him and me." But just as Auston is about to walk past him Dylan's hand clenches around his upper arm; hard, with a lot more strength than Auston would have given him credit for. 

"Listen… I get that Mitch was the best thing that ever happened to you but I guess it's time for you to accept that you can't have everything and everyone you want. I'm pretty sure one of your many hookups will help you." 

The tone is so icy and cutting that Auston stops dead in his tracks. He knows he could tear himself loose and barge into the house, that he could crash dinner and ask Mitch for two minutes. But suddenly all strength and determination seem to be gone, all the anger Dylan's words have caused evaporates into thin air and he feels small; almost as lost and helpless as he did half a year ago. 

With a shrug, he shakes off Dylan's hand and turns around. 

"You know what… forget it. I don't even know why I thought I could reason with you."

Auston has never given up in his life before. It's not who he is. Not who he wants to be. But since he met Mitch he’s learned so many things… to be soft when he's been hard before. To be sweet when he's been bitter before. To love when he's been indulgent before. He's a different person. 

When he’s almost reached the sidewalk he can hear footsteps behind him; muted and hasty. Can hear his name; more a whisper and a curse. Can hear Dylan's voice; impatient and annoyed like before. 

It wouldn't be enough to stop him… but there's also the almost desperate and tormented undertone and then the hand on his shoulder. The _plea_. 

"Aus…"

He gives in. Closes his eyes. Waits. 

"I'm—I'm sorry. I really am." 

He doesn't turn around because that's not something he can do—not right now. Not for Dylan. 

"I didn't mean it."

"Could've fooled me."

"It's—It's Mitch.” He sounds pained. “He's so… someone has to look out for him."

Finally, Auston exhales. Dylan's words are an explanation, an apology, and probably the only one that he’ll ever get from him. He inhales. "He's not a kid anymore."

"He's never been a kid. But that doesn't mean that he wasn't hurt."

"You seem to forget that he was the one who broke up with me. Do you think I wasn't hurt, too? Because well… you're wrong. It really fucking hurt me. Thank you." Auston's voice is cutting. "But you've been right, Mitch was the best thing that ever happened to me, and if I could I'd give back that damn cup if it means we were still together. But I can't, I—I can't change it, okay?"

For a long moment, Dylan is quiet, then he steps around him and stands in front of Auston, hesitatingly reaching for his hand. Auston resists the instinct to pull it away. He's not a petulant child anymore and he can see in Dylan's face that he's really sorry.

"I know. And I know you probably hurt even more than him. But it's too early… you're both not ready. No, don't—" He shakes his head when he sees that Auston wants to object. "I can see it in your eyes, and I can see it in his eyes, too, almost every day. And even if you were ready… today isn't a good day. It's Ella's birthday." 

Auston doesn't know how he could have forgotten about that; probably because he was too busy thinking about beating the Blue Jackets and ignoring Willy and Patty's pitying eyes whenever he declined their invitations to hang out. He looks toward the house. 

"You have to go back before she misses you."

"Yeah… we're about to cut the cake." Dylan lets go of his hand, only to put his arms around Auston before he can protest. It's just a short, tight hug, but it takes his breath away.

"Listen—you both had something amazing, something that doesn't happen to everyone. It takes time to get over it, maybe even as long as it lasted. But there'll come the time when the pain fades and you only remember it for the good things." 

Then the embrace is over and Dylan walks back to the house; halfway there he whirls around again and smiles. 

"Good luck tomorrow, beat the shit out of them." 

There are impatient squeals and laughter when the door opens and for three seconds Auston can watch Ari jumping into Dylan's arms, can see Mitch's quizzical and then shocked face as his eyes find Auston's. It's too short, over before they both have time to really comprehend it, but not short enough to prevent his throat clenching and his heart aching. 

Auston pulls the jacket around him and turns away, almost flees so that he doesn't have to find out if Mitch tries to follow him. He knows he wouldn't, but he also knows that he can't take the truth. 

He only slows down a bit when he's three blocks away and on Queen Street, his hands are trembling where he shoved them into his pockets and he feels like he double-shifted in overtime. People are walking past him, but he doesn't really see them—he's cold, his vision is blurry and bile is rising in his throat. For a moment he thinks he's going to be sick so that he stops and leans over, almost wishes he could throw up, could get rid of the emptiness and the sadness that's still living inside his chest. 

Dylan was right. 

He's not ready. 

__

"Are you okay?" 

This question is so ridiculous that Auston almost laughs out loud; he sounds more like he's choking or like he has trouble breathing and when Willy's expression gets even more worried he rolls his eyes. "Do I look okay?"

"Nope, not at all."

"Then why are you asking?"

"Because that's what friends are for."

"I think a friend would try to cheer me up or tell me that I can do this, you know? Boost my confidence? Or talk me out of it."

"Sorry," Willy shrugs, then straightens up and places both hands on Auston's shoulder, holds his gaze. There's an amused twinkle in his eyes and the corner of his mouth twitch. "You can do this, Auston. You're the greatest hockey player ever and the bravest man on earth. People will adore you and praise the ground you walk upon or name their firstborn children after you no matter if they're boys or girls and—" 

Auston brushes Willy's hands away and stops the exaggerated platitudes. "Thanks. That's exactly what I needed."

"You're welcome."

Another glance towards the set on the little stage shows Auston that they’ve started the last preparations for the interview; people running around, filling glasses with water, adjusting the two chairs, dusting off the table again while the cameraman cleans the lens of his camera. It's too late to pull out or stop it—not that he wants to, but this morning it had still been a possibility; he could have called his agent and made him cancel the whole thing. This morning it had been so far away, so surreal, and something he almost looked forward to. 

Now he wishes he could run. Now he's glad that he can't anymore. 

"You can still opt out of this." Willy muses; he probably followed Auston's gaze. 

"No, I can't. And I won't."

Judd comes over from where he's been talking with one of the producers, nods at him. "Five minutes until you're on. You're ready?"

Auston gives him two thumbs up, it's not like he can do anything else. And it's not like everybody can probably see that he's _not_ ready. But Judd only laughs, good-natured and wide as always before he pats his shoulder. Sometimes Auston thinks his life is just a joke to his agent. Maybe that's the reason he didn't quit on him after all the hassle Auston brought him last summer. Then again, Auston pays his agency a lovely sum every month and his contract is solid for the next two years. They can work for it. 

Next to him Willy sniggers, as if he needs to remind Auston that his life is _indeed_ a joke to Willy. He should have brought Patty. 

"Your face man, you look like you're about to puke."

"If I do, it'll be on your shoes." 

"Eww," Willy wrinkles his nose and takes a step back. 

"Next time I'll bring Patty." Auston can barely resist the urge to wipe his hands on his thighs: his palms are so sweaty that he's afraid to drop his phone that’s almost constantly vibrating—probably with texts from his mama, his sisters or his teammates. He stopped checking them half an hour ago when he realized that they were only making him more nervous. 

A young man steps up to them hesitantly and indicates to the belt bag with makeup brushes of various sizes, asks if he can touch up Auston's face; most likely because Auston is as pale as if he really is about to puke over Willy's fancy Louboutin boots, or sweating as if he finished an hour’s bag skate. 

"Hate to break it to you, but you can only come out once." 

Auston has to hold his breath while the soft brush swipes over his cheekbones and forehead; it tickles, but it also feels very nice and when the almost-caress stops he opens his eyes to find the young man studying his face with an expression he can't really decipher. He laughs awkwardly and shrugs apologetically for being so much of a hassle to these guys. 

"Don't worry, it's… it's nothing. Actually, it was my pleasure." 

Then he gives him a sweet smile, more a curl in the corner of his mouth and winks cheekily before he whirls around and disappears into the direction of the dressing rooms. 

Willy stares after him with a mixture of astonishment and delight. 

"You realized he was flirting with you, right?" 

"Shut up." 

" _It was my pleasure_ ," he echos. "Oh my god, he was so cute." 

"I said shut up." 

(But Willy's right. He _was_ cute. And he probably had been flirting with Auston.)

Someone calls 'two minutes' and the assistant director holds up two fingers into his direction. Auston nods, takes a deep breath. He's not sure what his heart is doing inside his chest—if it's beating too fast or too slow or if it's still beating at all. But his knees are shaking and suddenly he really feels like puking. 

"Hey, calm down," Willy steps closer to him, places both of his hands on Auston's shoulders. They're warm and heavy and grounding, just like the assurance and seriousness in his eyes. "You got this, okay? You've told everyone who counts, so the worst part is already done and this is a piece of cake compared to winning the Stanley Cup. We've all got your back, remember. The guys, the franchise. This is a good thing you're doing here, for the league, for the LGBT community and for yourself. Think about how you felt after you came out to us."

Auston coughs; he's sure he can't speak even one word because his throat feels so tight and hoarse as if he swallowed glass. So he only mouths his _thank you_. 

Willy pulls him into a tight hug, almost crushes him against his chest. His body is solid and strong, steadying. But most of all it's warm and Auston needs this warmth. The strange confidence that comes from the knowledge that he still has Willy, that Willy is proud of him. 

Then Willy lets go of him and boops his nose. 

"Go get ‘em, tiger."

And with a final deep inhale Auston straightens his back and steps out onto the little stage, forces a smile while he shakes hands with Eliot Friedmann. 

__

>And now you felt ready?<

>I don't think there's such a thing as 'feeling ready', but I came to the point where I didn't want to hide that part of me anymore. Where I felt that I started to resent the league and everything surrounding it for making me want to hide this part of myself. It was just—I got tired and so angry about it all the time… you know? And then suddenly I understood that that's totally on me, that I'm the reason for thinking like this, and that I can also change it.<

>Be the change you want to see?<

>Yeah, kind of, I guess. I didn't want to end up hating the sport that I loved for so long, that helped me to become the person I am now.<

>That's a very wise notion, Auston. I think you did a very brave thing, and the league will only benefit from it. <

>Or a very selfish one. Because I didn't think about the league, or even what it means for others… god, I probably really sound selfish now? But I didn't think about being a role model or something for other queer players. I only thought about what it would mean for me.<

>You're too honest. And I also think that it's still very brave.<

>Thank you.<

>Do you think about what will change now?<

>I… I do, of course. But the NHL is a very traditional and old-fashioned business - and not to throw shade - but I'd be surprised if I never heard a slur or caught some suspicious glances. That’s—that's how we were brought up and you can't change that in two months. So yeah, I'm prepared for some good-natured jokes, but also boos and insults, whatever. It's… it's not much of a difference to the ones I heard growing up. When I realized this, I mean, that I always had a label attached to me… _half-Mexican, Papi, Wunderkind, first overall, disappointment_ … ‘Bisexual’ is just another one. And it's true, so… I try to carry it with the pride it deserves.<

There is more of the interview, but it gets drowned under an eruption of noise: Kappy yelling, Willy jumping at him (again), Zach and Patty clapping, some of the others cheering at him. The only exception is Naz who is actually speechless—probably an event that is just as remarkable as their cup win last summer. 

"Wow, Jesus fuck, Auston that was—"

"A hell of a speech, honestly."

"Did you write this by yourself or was it your agent?" Freddie ruffles Auston's hair, and then - probably for good measure - also Willy's, who's still clinging to Auston. 

"I—"

"That's the third time I've seen it but I swear it gets better and better." 

For maybe the first time Auston is absolutely sure that Willy isn't mocking him. His face had been practically stunned when Auston came back to him after the interview, and he was staring at him with an open mouth. Auston still regrets that he was too drained to get out his phone and take a picture because it would have gotten him blackmail material for the rest of their careers. His expression had been a bit like Naz’s is now, still looking at him. 

They are all gathered in JT's living room because Willy somehow managed to convince both him and Auston that the airing of the interview required some team bonding time to mentally support Auston—as if the material wasn't actually recorded a week ago. So instead of celebrating his last night of freedom by going out and having dinner or some drinks without getting harassed or at least alone in his condo freaking out in peace and quiet, Auston was forced to sit through another run of the interview. 

It wasn't as nerve-wracking as actually doing it, but it got pretty close and not even the drinks and the cheat food they were having was enough to calm him down. All the important people in his life already knew, all of them had been nothing but supportive so far—but watching himself coming out to the whole world and having a party? 

Still, sometimes it's easier to let Willy do what he wants, and seeing their teammates’ reactions, the cheering and the celebrating… that was definitely a good thing. 

He's just standing in the kitchen and filling up his glass when Patty suddenly appears next to him. 

"Hey, want one?" He lifts the bottle. 

"Gotta drive home later, or like in the next hour. Christina has yoga practise every Friday morning." Patty reaches for the water, ice cubes slicking against the chrome of the stylish jug. "She texted me earlier… she watched it, too." 

"Oh?" Auston raises his eyebrows. 

"She's very proud of you. Just like I am… I mean, we know we're sometimes overstepping when we treat you like another one of our kids, but—" for a second Patty can't meet his eyes and looks down at the counter, using his hand to wipe up the puddle of water that he accidentally spilled. 

"You really are like family to both of us… to all of us, even to the boys. Watching you over the last couple of years… how you’ve matured. That means a lot to us, and we're all glad that you're a part of our lives. We—we couldn't be more proud of you."

Suddenly the lump in Auston's throat feels as big as a fist and he has to focus on the movement of Patty's fingers for a second because he's afraid that he would be so overwhelmed and really start crying or something. He has always been aware of how the Marleaus treat him more like a son or a brother—has always felt like a part of their family; respected, cared for, loved. But hearing it. 

Is different. Better and worse. 

"Thank—thanks."

And maybe Patty gets that, because he just nudges Auston's shoulder again, clinks his glass of water against Auston's. 

"Christina says you're always welcome to crash at our house if things get too crazy for you the next few days."

"I translate as you need a babysitter because you forgot your anniversary again and have to make up for that." 

Patty rubs the back of his head, looks almost bashful. 

"Hm, yeah, that too." 

__

Things get crazy. 

Things even get _super_ crazy. 

Headlines with his name plastered over every cover of every newspaper and sports magazine. Snippets and soundbites of his interview in every news show, in every podcast. Camera flashes and microphones in his face whenever he so much as sets foot out of his condo. 

Of course, no journalist or photographer is allowed inside his building or onto the grounds of their practice facilities—but it's still impossible to escape the turmoil and thunderstorm no matter what he does. 

His mama stays with him and takes care of him, politely declining to give any statement whenever someone catches her alone. She cooks and prepares meals the way she always does when she stays in Toronto longer than a couple of days and at night they watch the Mexican soap opera that she loves even though Auston only understands half of it. She brings him hot chocolate with cream and cinnamon and insists that he needs something 'comforting' as if her presence wasn't the most comforting thing in the whole world. 

He doesn’t change his routine, still stretches next to Freddie and tries to keep his calm while the arena is louder than ever and thundering with boos and catcalls and cheers. He's still doing post-game interviews even though the PR team told him that he doesn't have to. 

And he's still getting a celebratory Timbit after a win. Even though it's silly and he can't even explain to anyone why he does it. 

One night he takes his mama to the Marleaus’ for dinner and he plays mini stick with the boys while the ‘grown-ups’ probably trade the most ridiculous stories about him. Because despite what Patty told him last week, it's hard to feel like anything but a kid while you're slippering around on socks or getting wrestled for the puck by four other boys. 

So, things are crazy. 

But they get better. Slowly. 

And by the time Thanksgiving rolls in they are almost normal. Almost good. 

__

"Dude, there are like… a thousand rainbow-painted pumpkins in front of your building."

Willy greets him while he slips out of his boots. Still a nice Canadian boy even if he would never admit it. 

"I know." It would be polite to get off the couch and offer Willy some help while he got himself a beer from the fridge and started to unpack the plastic bags with takeout. 

"I guess it's kind of a sign of solidarity or gratitude… I dunno." Auston shrugs. He has paused the game and leans over the backrest to watch Willy pile salmon tartar, steak and grilled vegetables up onto two plates. 

"Pretty cool, if you ask me." 

It is pretty cool, and Auston isn't about to look a gift horse into the mouth, but he thinks it's even cooler that the doorman decided to not clean the pumpkins away and that it's been at least three days since he got ambushed in the Shoppers around the corner by some very supportive but also very annoying fans. So he just gestures for Willy to hand him a beer before he tells him the short story. 

"I mean, I was buying toilet paper and Ben&Jerry's… if there's ever a time when you don't ask a professional athlete for an autograph then it's after a three-game road trip close to midnight while he’s getting cheat snacks, right?"

"I'll drink to that." 

Willy slumps down on the couch next to him and cheers him; the movement almost makes the red beets tumble from his plate onto his white sweater and Auston snorts. It's always comforting to see that Willy, who usually comes over so poised and perfect, is just a slob like him. 

Auston switches the TV to the Jets - Canucks game while they eat. 

"Why did you make me get takeout if your freezer’s full of home-cooked Mama Matthews food? I want to have some of that."

"It has to last until Christmas and neither of us is feeling miserable enough… and no, your stupid three games without a point doesn't count as miserable."

"Easy for you to say, Mr. Hattrick," Willy takes another sip of his beer. "So… have you called him, yet?"

For a second, Auston freezes, but then he remembers and manages to swallow the piece of steak without coughing. He rolls his eyes at Willy. "Nope." 

"It's been four weeks, he'll forget you if you don't call him soon."

"I hardly think it's possible for him to forget me. My face is still on the cover of every tabloid and there's the oversized banner with my jersey hanging from that house on Church Street." He tries and probably fails to look not smug. "I told you I don't need you to get me a date." 

"But he was _cute_."

"Thought you said I'm not into cute ones?" Auston drawls and focuses on the tv again. "Pettersson is other-worldly this season. Sucks that they're the Canucks, so they still won't make the playoffs." 

It's probably too early to predict that, but Willy is always good to trash talk other teams, especially the Canucks. But when he's met with silence Auston turns around and finds Willy staring at him. 

' _What_?' He lifts his shoulders in confusion when Willy just continues watching him chew. 

"Auston." 

"I mean, why don't you call him, if you think he was that cute?" 

" _Auston_ ," Willy shakes his head, a slow movement; almost sad. Almost chiding. Auston can't read him and it confuses him so much that he wants to snap. 

"You're still not over Mitch." 

This time Auston actually chokes; it's just a small bite of sweet potato, but it's stuck in his throat and he can't swallow around it. The sound that comes out of his mouth is hoarse; a mix between a cough and a protesting yelp. His cheeks feel hot when he finally manages to get it down, and there's cold sweat on his neck. 

"I'm not." He breathes. "What—the fuck?"

Willy rolls his eyes and hands him the roll of paper towel. He points towards Auston's mouth. "You've got a little something… there, on your chin." 

With an angry tug, Auston grabs the roll from him and wipes at his chin; he's still recovering from the coughing fit. 

"So tell me why you think I'm not over him? Just because I don't want to date that guy that you picked up for me in the TV studio?"

"No, not because of _that._ Because of this, this whole reaction. And don't even try to blame it on the food."

"You know that I picked up since… the break up. You've been there. So it’s not like I’m living like a hermit."

"Yes, I've been there, and you actually fooled me then. Probably even fooled yourself. How often are you still thinking about him? I mean, like how many times a day? Or over a week?"

"I'm—I'm not doing this. Sorry." Auston throws the paper towel onto the table and takes a swig from his beer, turns his attention back to the game. He's not about to let himself be interrogated by Willy or sit through another one of his theories about Auston's love life. 

He's _fine_ and he's been _fine_ for quite a while now. 

He hasn't thought about Mitch for… ~~a couple of days~~ a long time. 

Next to him, Willy shifts to put his empty plate down and stretches his legs onto the coffee table. They continue to watch the game in silence but something is off now. Auston can feel Willy's gaze on him every other minute: long and heavy, like a weight on his shoulders. It's upsetting and it makes Auston clench his teeth until his jaw is tense and aching. 

Because _now_ Auston is thinking about Mitch. 

About the way they used to catch games together, almost exactly like this: curled up on the couch with takeout. Only that Mitch would lean against him or he would brush his fingers through Auston's hair, placing tiny kisses against his upper arm and the back of his hand (because he couldn’t sit still for more than five minutes). It was so different. It was another life.

About the way Mitch's body had felt pressed against his or how his touch had been both calming and arousing, his lips cool and soft when they slid over Auston's naked skin while he was whispering about all the things he wanted to do with Auston—turning him on so much with his mouth that Auston was hard before either of them could even get naked, before climbing onto Auston's lap and obscuring the TV screen with his body and making all those promises come true. 

About the way Mitch had been warm and sweet, and cold and sharp. Understanding and comforting and also pushing and encouraging. He was ever new and yet so easy and familiar. He was everything Auston never even wanted and more. 

He was Auston's and now he's not anymore. 

"You know that I saw him at the fundraiser a couple of months ago?" 

(Of course. It was the reason Auston had begged management to not make him go again.) 

"We talked a little. At first, it was a bit awkward… like, you could tell that he wasn't sure if I was pissed on your behalf, but then… It was nice, fun."

Auston closes his eyes. There are specks of colour dancing on the back of his lids—a kaleidoscope of images and emotions. They make his chest ache; the left side. He feels dizzy. 

"He looked good. I mean, we're talking about Mitch, so of course he did. Put on some weight, cut his hair and all that. Wore a nice suit jacket that actually fitted this time. You probably know which one I'm talking about."

(The only really expensive gift Mitch had allowed Auston to give him.)

"And he asked about you—not even in that strange kind of polite-half-hidden way some people ask about their former partners. No, he asked right away if you're well, sounded like he really meant it. And yeah, I told him you're good, don't worry, but you should've seen his face. He looked… god, he looked so honestly happy about it. Except that even I could see that just thinking about you was still painful for him."

"Why are you telling me this?" Even with the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes Auston can still see the colours, still feels this hollowness that he can’t name, this longing and this love for and from Mitch that he wants to pull over himself and wrap around himself. It has been gone—for a while, he has thought it was really gone. 

But it wasn’t. Not when it's back with the same intensity as before. 

"You know why, Auston."

(He really doesn't.)

"Because you're not over him. And… it's okay. I mean, who am I to judge after I literally confessed that I wish I could experience something that comes even remotely close to what you had?" Willy's laughing, but Auston doesn't have to open his eyes and look at him to know he's shrugging, that he's actually as sad as himself. "I may not get it, but—I understand it. Maybe you'll never be over him, and that's also okay. But… I think he feels the same." 

Auston shakes his head. Automatically. Because he can't. Think about that. He can't. 

(Only that he does.)

"You can't know that." 

"And you can't know if he doesn’t." Finally, Auston opens his eyes and turns around so that Willy can see his face. "Mitch is… once you disappointed him he'll cut you out of his life and he's done with you."

"That doesn't sound like Mitch at all." 

Willy's expression doesn't change while Auston retells the story that Mitch confessed that night in Scottsdale. Or it's more that it changes so much that Auston can't really follow; a string of emotions that all blend into each other. Complete bewilderment, fury, sadness and inexplicable tenderness. 

"You know that only you could compare the things his parents did to him to what you did. Jesus… you're so selfish."

"Excuse me?"

"These—" He seems to search for a term. "People; they were supposed to love him, to care for him and they didn't. His father abused him and his mother was too weak or—I don't know. But they had countless chances to do right by him and they didn't. That's so far from what you've done, like they may as well be the moon and the earth."

Auston can hear his heart beat inside his chest, his blood rush in his ears. It's so loud that it almost drowns out Willy's words. But it's not too loud to not recognize it for what it is. 

Hope. 

"What if he has someone else? It's been almost four weeks since the interview aired and—" 

(It's tempting.)

"What if he thinks _you_ have someone else and that's the reason you came out?"

(It's dangerous.)

__

Auston had thought he would never return. Would never look at the little house again with the pumpkin decorated flowerbed and the fairy light railway around the porch. Not after the last time. 

But maybe tonight it really will be the last time. 

Even though it feels more like a throwback to almost exactly a year ago when he spent the weekend before Halloween here, carving and painting pumpkins with Mitch next to him, Ari on his lap. The house had been chaos as usual, stuffy warm from the oven and with everyone talking loudly to drown out the 'Nightmare Before Christmas' soundtrack. Alex's hair had been white with artificial spiderwebs and Mitch's lips had been stained red from the cookies Dylan gave them to try. 

It feels like no time has passed. 

It feels like a lifetime ago. 

It feels like he could open the door and be part of it again. 

It feels like he could knock at the door and get kicked out forever. 

At least this time he's prepared for it to be the last time. 

The squeaking of the little wooden gate, crunching pebbles under his shoes. The short walk to the porch while he looks up the mostly dark house. The only light coming from the lamp above the stove, from flickering candles in the living room and the colourful rainbow of Ariella's nightlight on the second floor. Then the rain-slippery steps and the mess of toys, boots and skateboards on the landing. 

It's half an hour past Ari's bedtime, a Wednesday night because that's the night Dylan and Brinks are usually out and Mitch is at home. It could have changed during the last year but it's still probably the best shot that he can get—and if he feels a little guilty about planning this so thoroughly, well… every other option is less desirable. 

When he knocks on the wooden front door the sound is so loud that he actually flinches. His heartbeat measures the time that passes until the curtain of the entranceway is pushed back: two heartbeats for every second, 42 in general and then he can witness the surprise on Alex’s face even though it's mostly dark inside. 

"Auston," she greets him. Her hair is longer than before, piled up on the top of her head in a messy bun, her glasses askew as always, the same frames as before—and he's sure he’s seen that sweater on her before, too. She looks tired and her eyes are a little red, probably from working the whole day. But the softness is as real as the warm and sweet embrace she pulls him into. "How… how are you?"

For a moment Auston thinks she's joking, thinks he really stepped back in time. Because she’s acting as if nothing happened. 

But then she releases him and steps back, beckoning him in, rocking awkwardly from the toes to the heels of her socked feet. 

"Sorry, that was a stupid question, I mean. But I hope you're still doing fine under the current circumstances?"

"Yeah, I—I'm fine." (Under the current circumstances.) "I—is Mitch here?" 

"Upstairs putting Ella to bed, probably fell asleep again; it's been an hour since they both went up." 

"He forgot his toothpaste at my place." Auston fumbles it out of his pocket but when he looks up at her he wants to hit himself. Because she actually laughs. 

"I seriously hope that he got a new tube in the meantime. But I appreciate your creative cover-up. I'll get him for you." She pats his arm before she leaves him to quietly tiptoe up the stairs. 

Instead of hanging his coat and slipping out of his shoes, Auston leans against the doorframe and just breathes. This has been surprisingly easy so far. He didn't get shoved from the porch, at least. He closes his eyes; but then he remembers that this could be the last time that he's here and so he opens them again and selfishly wishes that it will take Alex a while to wake Mitch up. 

He has to soak it in. No matter how much it would fuck him up later. No matter how much harder it would be to ever forget about the memories that are tied to this place. 

He needs the memories. Because they are already part of him. They shaped and created the person he is right now. And despite everything… he likes this person. 

So he does. _Absorb it_.

The pile of cleaned pots in the kitchen, the chalkboard with notes and messages, the plate with muffins on the counter, done up with icing and sprinkles. The kitchen table cluttered with Alex’s designs, the succulents on the windowsill of the living room, the white-painted staircase with a different stack of books on every second step. Things that had become so familiar and still are even after a year. 

And then all the things that are different. 

The new drawings on the fridge, the nook in the living room that is no longer turquoise but a light grey, the old record player on the sideboard made of brick stones.

So he inhales. Drinks it in.

The scent of wood and stone, of detergent and freshly baked goods. Of dust and rain jackets, of wax crayons and hot glue. Of six people living together as a family. 

It's a lot and a lot more than he expected. 

But it's nothing against seeing Mitch coming down the stairs barefoot and winter pale. In his shabby sweats and one of Auston's old hoodies. Hair messed up and eyes bleary. 

He looks soft and warm and so beautiful that Auston knows Willy was right. He's not over him and he probably never will be.

(And he will never regret coming here tonight no matter what happens.)

Auston feels like it's a dream. Has dreamed enough times of Mitch like this that he fears he could wake up and find Mitch gone and himself in his bed and not _here_. Blood is rushing loud in his ears, hot and cold and everything in between. A lump in his throat that is as big as his heart. That makes it impossible for him to speak when Mitch stops in the middle of the living room; insecure and as overwhelmed as Auston is. 

"You forgot your toothpaste," Auston says finally, pulling out the stupid cinnamon toothpaste again that he sometimes used when he couldn’t sleep. When he felt restless and cold and empty. When he needed proof that Mitch has been in his life and changed it for the better.

"Thank you," Mitch mumbles before he finally comes closer and takes the tube out of Auston's hand, carefully and slowly, not touching Auston. As if he's also afraid that he could destroy the illusion. "I missed it."

The way he says it… it's almost impossible for Auston to not hope that Mitch meant something else. Especially when he raises his eyes and looks up at him. 

It's stupid to get his hopes up, yet when has Auston not been stupid and weak for Mitch. For Mitch's real smile—not this wide and blinding thing that sometimes was enough to forget everything. The other one: small and soft and so incredibly tender. 

"It… I—do you have a minute? Can we talk? Please?" Auston has to avert his eyes, he can't look at Mitch up close like this. Doesn't want to see the shift in his expression if he declines. Doesn't want Mitch to see _his_ reaction if he declined. 

"Yeah…sure. We—Connor is using the playroom as a study, but we can go to my room." 

"Or we could take a walk?" Auston blurts out because Mitch's bedroom is the only place in the world he wants to be and therefore the last place in the world they should go and talk. 

"'Course." Mitch accepts, voice still mellow and no hesitation, nothing when he starts to shove his boots on and slips into his winter coat. His movements a bit clumsy, maybe because he’s tired, maybe because he’s sneaking glances at Auston every other second. 

Almost as if he’s also afraid that Auston could vanish in front of his eyes and he has to make sure that he doesn’t. 

It gives Auston more hope than anything else, fills him with the courage to look at Mitch. To reach out and adjust the beanie that Mitch has tucked over his hair, to let his fingertips graze the dark strands that are falling around Mitch’s face while Mitch blinks up at him. 

He has no idea how long they both stand like this; it feels like an eternity, but it’s probably mere seconds until they can hear Alex’s quietly clearing her throat behind them and they have to move. 

And then they’re standing on the sidewalk, still glistening from the afternoon rain; grey concrete and the black tar of the road, smelling earthy and crisp—of ice and snow. Of the winter that would hit Toronto soon enough. 

"This is kind of strange," Mitch laughs while winding the scarf around his throat. Auston almost regrets bringing his own, but mostly he wants to lean in and bury his face against the pale skin of Mitch's neck. He caught a trace of Mitch's scent while he followed him outside and he barely suppressed the urge to inhale so deeply and often that he would pass out. "Kinda forbidden."

"Not anymore." 

"I know." 

"I hope… I hope they didn't harass you?"

A little headshake, but then a more reluctant nod. 

"We got a few calls in the shop and at Boarding House, a couple of interview requests and stuff… one or two reporters at the skate park. But, no, nothing we couldn't handle. I mean, it was over a year ago." Another laugh, awkward and disbelieving. "I got a head-up so we were prepared. Tell Willy and Bree thanks by the way."

Auston nods. He can't really decipher Mitch's tone. 

They have turned right without talking about it, him just following Mitch. It seems like they’re the only people in the world; even the constant hum of traffic is muted as they walk past rows of cute brick houses with their little front yards. It looks lovely and homey—illuminated windows, Thanksgiving decorations on the porch, a dog barking. 

"I… I wasn't sure if you have my number blocked but I wanted to let you know in advance," he admits. 

Mitch stops and turns towards him, almost reaches for his arm but then drops it mid-movement. 

"I'm not one of your ex-girlfriends or someone you just call for a hookup until they fall in love with you." 

Auston shrugs; what else can he do. 

"I saw the interview… I mean who hasn't at this point, but—it was really great." 

"Thank you." 

Auston came to talk. To tell Mitch so many things. To ask for a second chance or closure. But walking alongside him is enough for now. And maybe Mitch knows anyway. He was always able to read Auston better than almost anyone else. Maybe Mitch’s quiet sideways glances are enough for now. Even for Auston who has never been able to read Mitch. 

Sometimes their hands brush each other; gloveless and cold—not a real touch, but the hint of a promise. Sometimes silence is better than words. 

Everything feels fragile. Tender. 

They stop at the white wooden gate of what seems to be a cemetery. It also seems to be locked, the place closed for the night. Auston raises his eyebrows, and then more when Mitch puts a finger to his lips. In the orange light of the streetlamps half of his face is hidden in shadows, but it's still obvious that he looks mischievous before he walks to the little gatehouse on the left. For a second Auston thinks Mitch intends to break one of the windows and wants to protest, but then Mitch comes back and presents him an old iron key that had probably been hidden under one of the empty flower pots there. 

' _Don't tell anyone_.' He mouths, before grinning wide and infectious. 

It's indeed a cemetery, and it's completely dark; the only light coming from the street they have left behind and the thousands of candles on the graves. Their figures cast long shadows until they merge with the blackness and disappear completely after they round a corner. The silence is sudden and only slightly eerie, but also comforting, just like the darkness. 

"I love this place." 

Suddenly Mitch winds his arm around Auston's and Auston almost jumps in surprise. It makes Mitch laugh; quietly, but definitely amused. "Jumpy, aren't you?"

"It's a _graveyard_."

"Yeah, we’re the only ones alive here… and maybe some rabbits and raccoons. I think it's comforting." 

"You're crazy." 

"No, I mean, yeah, it's maybe a bit strange, but I love that no one ever comes here except me."

"That's because you're crazy." Auston rolls his eyes; he's aware that Mitch can't see it so he tries to make sure that his voice is dripping with sarcasm. He probably fails because that is Mitch's arm wrapped around his, and Mitch's body very close, almost pressed against his. 

"I used to come here when El couldn't sleep at night and the only way to make her stop crying was walking around until she fell asleep. I didn't want anyone to see me walking a baby in the middle of the night. We'd only just moved into the house and I was so afraid that the others would throw us out again. She used to have these stomach issues… sometimes I couldn't put her down at all. So I carried her around for hours, rubbing her tummy and humming ‘ _If you're happy_ ’. One time I was so tired that I passed out on a bench and the warden found us in the morning, both sound asleep." 

"I love you." 

Auston doesn't know where the words come from—but there they are, hanging in between them. As real as the path beneath their feet, as the shadows around them, as the air between them. Mitch's story melted his heart, made it so soft that he couldn't hold them in anymore. They’ve been inside him all the time, the whole year and they threatened to choke him because he couldn't say them anymore. 

So he says them again. 

And again. 

Until Mitch stops him. 

Until Mitch pulls his head down and kisses him. 

When they finally part, Auston tastes salt and when he puts his hands around Mitch's face he feels wet streaks on his cheeks. And when he brushes them away Mitch sobs. 

He doesn't return the words just like Auston doesn't need to hear them. 

He only needs to kiss him again. More soft this time, interrupted with giggles and smiles, distracted from Mitch's hands that pull down the zipper of his coat so that they can share their warmth. 

It's almost midnight at the end of November, the air filled with the scent of pine trees, rich black earth and candle wax. With the sounds of trees rustling and little rodents scurrying in the bushes. It's freezing cold and too dark to see more than shadows. 

But Auston doesn't need to see. He can listen—to Mitch's heartbeat echoing through his chest, their combined breath that is rising like white clouds between them. And he can feel—Mitch's warmth and skin under his fingertips, the tears he cried. 

They are alone in a city of millions. They have found each other and changed each other once. They broke apart and now they've found each other again. Now they will change each other's life again. 

They will hurt each other again. Because they are human. But they will still love each other. 

Auston has never kissed anyone in a cemetery before. 

Auston has never missed anyone else before. 

Auston has never loved anyone else like this before. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so so much for reading ♥ 
> 
> I wrote in this chapter about things I've never had to experience. I've never had to come out. But I tried my best and I seriously hope I didn't offend anyone with that part. If there is anything - in this chapter or in the whole story - that could be triggering or that you found offensive, please let me know, I will fix it. 
> 
> Like I said, there is an epilogue - because my beta wanted to know how they continue their life now, but mostly because I wasn't ready to let go of this story. 
> 
> I’m on [ **tumblr** ](https://miss-malheur.tumblr.com/) come and talk to me. I'm nice and don't bite and love to chat (or get prompts - because I'm not writing enough already and haven't about 3-4 stories planned or started ^^)


	12. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This epilogue only exists because my beta, the lovely Sarah said that the original ending was so sudden. Although she didn’t have to persuade me at all to write more, to be honest. I love this story with all my heart and writing more wasn’t really a hardship. 
> 
> To all the people who commented on the previous chapters and that I still haven’t replied to… I’m really really sorry about that and I’m really really grateful for every single comment. Knowing that this story is so well received means still a lot to me and the only reason I haven’t replied was that I was pretty busy with writing another story and re-organizing my private life. But I will reply! ♥ 
> 
> I hope you enjoy learning a bit more about this verse and diving once again into Auston’s, Mitch’s and Ari’s relationship.

The house is small and narrow, only one half of a detached house, made of red brick with a pretty alcove and a little tower on the upper floor. The front door is painted in a bright shade of blue just like the wooden shutters. There's a bench next to a young magnolia tree: the wilted brown blossoms cover the pavement and the patch of grass in the little front yard. 

It looks nothing like Auston. And if it weren't for Auston's fancy Mercedes SUV in the driveway he would have thought he's at the wrong address. 

Nothing is sleek, cool and elegant in the way Auston's condo had been. Instead, it's cute, homey, not much different than all the houses around it. 

Of course, Willy knows that the interior is different, Auston has shown him some pictures on his phone: the sweet high-end TV set, the six-burner stove that cost almost as much as a small car and the wooden patio in the back with a huge grill and a jacuzzi. Things that were still Auston—or the Auston that Willy got to know seven years ago. 

The Auston who liked flashy clothes, and expensive jewelry and only got a nice condo to impress his hookups. Who picked up and was as adverse to relationships as Willy still is. Who wasn't out and didn't change the NHL. 

_The Auston before Mitch._

So maybe this house is still Auston; it's just the Auston Willy is sometimes astonished about. 

He shrugs the thought off and rings the doorbell. 

It's neither Auston nor Mitch who opens the door for him. Instead, it's Connor, dressed in an impeccable navy suit with a light blue shirt, even his hair is neat and gelled back. They’ve met a few times before, mostly for birthdays at their shared house or barbecues on Auston's rooftop terrace, and the remarkable night when they’d all gone out together to celebrate Connor's degree. It had been the first time Willy had seen the normally quiet and shy Connor totally relaxed and exuberant: drinking, dancing and joking with them as if something loosened up inside of him and allowed him to let go. 

Willy found that he liked him a lot better since that night.

"I wasn't aware of a dress code," Willy comments and Connor huffs. 

"I came straight from work." 

"Wouldn't have guessed that. No casual Fridays?" 

"Not for the rookies, I'm afraid." 

Willy laughs and slips out of his shoes like the good half-Canadian boy he is. There are already a couple of pairs in the little hallway and Willy can hear noise from the back of the house. 

He looks expectantly at Connor, nodding at him to lead the way.

"First time here?" 

"Yup," Willy nods, he got out of helping to move in because he had twisted his shoulder and he’d never been more glad to be injured before. 

"Auston can show you around later, let's see our birthday girl first." Connor walks ahead through the long and narrow hallway, past the stairs and the living area to the kitchen. Again Willy can't help noticing that the interior doesn't look a lot like Auston, either. 

The rooms are bright with high windows, refurbished floorboards and modern furniture mixed with quirky vintage finds. But they are almost small, or rather not as spacious as he's used to from the houses of his other teammates. The colour palette is white and soft greys and the warm brown of the wood, but the pictures on the walls are colourful, almost artsy and on the huge couch he spots one of Alex's famous quilts. 

It looks like the grown-up, well-designed and expensive version of Mitch's shared house.

The kitchen is another bright room that stretches over the whole breadth of the back of the house with huge floor to ceiling sliding doors that open to the patio. Dylan is standing next to the notorious stove and mixing salsa verde, while also holding something that is probably a gin tonic because Willy has been to enough of their get-togethers. Brinks is sitting on the island and clinging to a mug of coffee—contrary to his boyfriend he looks totally relaxed and like he doesn't have a care in the world while Dylan's hair is frazzled as always and the bags under his eyes are so remarkable that Willy once again notices how appropriate the comparison with a raccoon is.

He gives them both a wave and nods when Brinks gestures towards the patio where Willy can see all three - Auston, Mitch and Ella - sitting on the table and grinning into the phone that Auston's holding. So he only takes a little detour to the kitchen table to get himself a glass of water with lemons and also a glass of margarita from the other jug. Then he fills another one for Connor, shrugging when he's met with a raised eyebrow.

_'Looks like you need that.'_

It's one of the treacherous days at the beginning of April when Toronto tricks you into believing that summer is just three weeks away: sunny and warm enough that you're tempted to get out your shorts and tanks only to hit you the next day with icy rain and sleet. Willy has lived through enough of these to know they can't be trusted but have to be treasured. So he takes the pair of sunglasses that he pushed onto his forehead and puts them on while he's leaning onto the door frame and watches the three of them.

Ariella is talking animatedly in a mix of Spanish and English, so they're talking to Ema. Every now and then she stops, frowns and then looks impatiently at Auston for him to deliver the word she's looking for. Most of the time there is no help, either because Auston knows that she's capable of coming up with it on her own or because her Spanish is already better than his. Two summers spent in Scottsdale with Ema and the additional course they put her in after she insisted have been enough for her to be almost fluent and even from his place at the patio door, Willy can hear Ema's delighted laughter and see the pride in Auston's eyes—as if this was his doing.

Mitch catches his gaze and waves; from the four people he's the one that probably understands the least of the conversation, but he looks mostly amused—so even his poor Spanish is enough to follow them. He softly nudges his daughter and points to Willy when she tears herself away from the screen.

"Lo siento Ema, I think we gotta go, but thank you so much for the present—" he stops when Ariella interrupts him.

“Es una hermosa pulsera, me encanta.” She lifts her hand and shows it off. “Ojalá que pudiéramos ir a Scottsdale muy pronto, pero Papi dice que no… no debería desear eso porque podría darles mala suerte a los Leafs.”

Willy has no idea what she's talking about, only catching the words 'Scottsdale' and 'Leafs' but besides her, both Mitch and Auston flinch.

“Ay no, no queremos eso, ¿verdad? Queremos que Auston juegue una temporada muy, muy larga.”

“Pero tal vez puedas venir con Bree, Alex y Brian, tenemos una casa grandota ahora y puedes quedarte con nosotros.” 

"Oh yeah, definitely, Ema. You're always welcome here."

There are more pet names and waves and kisses blown at the phone screen (Mitch and Ariella) and some softly muttered words and embarrassed nods (Auston) before they end the call.

"Willy!" Ariella stands up so quickly her chair almost tumbles over, and then she's running towards him. Willy braces himself because it wouldn't be the first time her affection leads her to crash into him but she stops herself when she notices the glass he's holding and just softly puts her arms around his middle.

"I'm glad you came!"

"I'm glad you invited me, Ari, thank you. And happy birthday."

"Thank you. We have to wait to cut the cake, Auston said, but do you wanna see it? It's in the fridge and it's so huge." She reaches for his hand, probably to pull him into the house and to the fridge.

And… Willy's usually not the biggest fan of kids or babies who aren’t related to him. Sure they are charming and cute, but they can also be a lot and annoying, especially if they're brats. But just like his younger cousins, Ariella is very polite, very well-behaved. Definitely a lot, too, but in the best possible way. And just like his younger cousins, it's hard to not melt into a soft puddle of affection when she greets him with so much honest happiness.

"Ella Bella, it would be nice if you allowed us to say hi, too, before you kidnap Willy," Mitch interrupts his thought and pulls him in for a loose hug. "Great you're here, man. I see you already found yourself something to drink."

Auston just gives him a short fist bump—it's not like they haven't seen each other just this morning for optional skate.

"Can I show Willy the cake, please, Aus?" Ariella has grabbed Willy's hand again, basically waiting for permission to drag him with him.

"How about you ask him if even wants to see the cake?"

Yeah, as if there's a change Willy would say no to her huge, pleading blue eyes. So he nods and says that he would love to before she even gets to ask him.

The cake is indeed huge; entirely covered with ombre turquoise buttercream roses and edible silver stars. The colour matches perfectly with Ariella's dress and hairpins—something that just screams Auston and when Ariella turns towards him with a huge smile Willy notices for the first time the golden necklace with her name.

(He would give his right arm if this necklace didn't come in a matching turquoise package and cost as much as the leather Louboutins he's wearing.)

Auston still spoils her, but the fact that she cares more about the cake than the $1000 around her neck is enough for Willy to sweep her from her feet and press a kiss to her cheek before he closes the fridge again.

"Hey, Ella-Bella-Princess," Dylan turns around from the stove. "How about you and Auston show Willy your new house? I think he hasn't been here before? And maybe by the time you're done the rest of the guests have arrived and it's time to cut the cake?"

Apparently, Auston isn't the only one spoiling her. Or trying to.

But he's curious about the house and knowing Freddie's punctuality (or lack thereof) they have some time to kill before they can cut the cake, he grabs his glass and waits for Ariella to get Auston.

__

The house is not that big. Not compared to JT's or Mo and Tessa's but it's still four levels and twice as big as his own condo. They start in the basement with the guestroom and the small gym that opens to a lower level patio, then they make their way upstairs to the second floor with Ari's room, a little open space that serves both as a study and another guest room before they reach the third floor that is basically just the master bedroom.

Willy's a bit scared of what he’ll find there but the place is spotlessly clean, with hardwood floorboards, floor to ceiling windows and a small rooftop terrace; there's also a walk-in closet and an ensuite bathroom with dark tiles.

Every room on the upper floors has one contrasting coloured wall, navy, purple, turquoise, anthracite and mustard, they go perfectly with the dark granite and oak wood, with the exposed brick and the steel and glass staircase.

"Isn't it pretty? I think it's the best house ever."

Ariella's pride is unmissable, as obvious as it is on Auston's face at her words.

And it's not a hardship for Willy to agree—it _is_ a very pretty house. Chic and modern, but still emanating with the warm feeling of _home_.

"It's really cool, yeah. Did you help Auston and your dad pick out the colours?"

She nods excitedly. "I picked the colour for my room and I even helped Alex painting!"

"Wow, that sounds like a lot of fun! So you don't regret moving in with Mr. Grumpy over there?" Willy points to Auston and doesn't bother to hide his grin at the frown he receives and even more at the vehement headshake from Ariella.

"No! He's never grumpy, he only smiles."

"That's because you and your dad make me happy, unlike this id—incredible fool." Auston carefully brushes some strands of hair from her forehead, completely ignoring Willy, and… well it's not the first time he’s watched Auston interact with her, witnessed the soft affection he lets slip that is so different from his general sass and curt behaviour. But it still makes him look twice, still surprises him.

"You make me happy too!" With a little squeal, she literally tumbles forward and hugs Auston around his middle, pressing her face against his stomach and therefore ruining all the work he did to rearrange her hair. For a second he looks startled as if he's as surprised by her affection as Willy is, as if he still thinks it's the greatest gift ever that he has her trust and her love.

The ringing of the doorbell interrupts them before Willy can even come up with a remark and Ariella's face brightens even more.

"Is that Freddie?"

"I don't know." Auston shrugs and smirks at her, allowing her with a nod to skip off. Together they watch her jumping down the stairs and open the door. It is indeed Freddie, tall and perfectly dressed in jeans and a nice shirt, carrying a bouquet of flowers and a present wrapped in turquoise, just like Auston instructed him, too. He seems completely unfazed by the fact that he's almost an hour late. But he smiles apologetically when Ariella points out that they've all been waiting for him.

"I'm so sorry, Auston must've told me the wrong time. Did I miss anything?"

"We just showed Willy the house, but we waited with the cake for you. And if you want I’ll show you the house later, too."

"Sounds good, but please tell me more about that cake first. I'm starving."

"Oh my god, it's sooo pretty, it has stars and it sparkles!" She claps her hands and then reaches for Freddie's to pull him with her into the direction of the kitchen.

"Looks like you've got replaced as the main attraction." Auston's voice sounds way too smug for his liking, but Willy is above such comments and just follows Ariella and Freddie.

__

They sing happy birthday for Ariella while Dylan lights the candles on the cake. First in English and then - because she begs them - in Spanish, even though the only ones singing are Auston and Mitch, clearly used to this already; the rest just hum along, but Ariella doesn't seem to mind, just beams up at them before she gathers her breath to blow out all nine flames at once.

Both Mitch and Auston look so proud as if Ariella had graduated, and when Auston stops recording everything with his phone and pockets it Willy catches him entangling his hand with Mitch's for a second and pulling him in for a kiss. They probably think no one is paying attention to them while handing over plates for a piece of the cake, because instead of keeping it short, Mitch leans closer and angles his head, makes the simple kiss more dirty, probably slips Auston some tongue as well.

Unfortunately, Will has caught them a couple of times kissing where someone could see them even though he knows that Auston is usually very much against it. But since he came out two summers ago and since he got back together with Mitch it's sometimes like they can't keep their hands off each other. It's never really indecent, never too much where a bystander would be uncomfortable and wish they would get a room. Never continues for longer than a few seconds before they part.

Just like now. But when they notice Willy's raised eyebrows they both look a little flushed and embarrassed and he just rolls his eyes and mouths ' _gonna make sure you're getting fined_ ' to Auston. Then he turns around to Alex, who hands him a slice of the birthday cake.

They all eat mostly standing around the kitchen, leaning against the counters and the fridge, where Dylan shoos them away whenever he has to get something out. Ari sits on the counter, feet dangling barefoot because apparently no one in the shared house used to wear shoes or socks ever and they brought that habit with them. Willy remembers Auston's complaining about the cleaning-lady-argument he had with Mitch who insisted that they don't need one. Another three hours of his life he won't ever get back. He should keep a list, or start offering couples therapy to gay hockey players.

"So, how are you feeling about probably facing the Bruins again in the first round?"

"There's still the chance that it's going to be the Devils… their last three games were amazing, maybe they’ll make it past their wild card spot."

"Or we drop the next four and end up there." Tyson jokes and gets an immediate slap from his girlfriend and then Freddie because you don't joke about things like that. "Hey, it could happen, our big unit here is a bit off his game lately, getting old, probably distracted with thinking about his retirement."

"That's mostly because I have to be around you all the time," Freddie rumbles and holds out his plate for Ariella to serve him another slice of cake. He has to awkwardly angle and move it so that it doesn't end on the floor. When he thanks her she puts her hand onto his arm.

"You can't get old, Freddie. Promise me." Her voice sounds weirdly wretched and sad and Freddie looks around a little confused and helpless about what he did wrong until Mitch steps over to them.

"Don't worry El, Freddie is far from old. They were just joking. Look," Mitch reaches for Freddie's arm and makes him flex it. "See that, El, all strong muscles. He's fit to play for the Leafs a long long time."

Freddie just stares between them, confused and puzzled, but a little bit charmed.

"Oh-kay?"

Auston is obviously about to lose it, barely managing to hold it in so that he can explain. "We… Remember when we picked up Ari from school last week? When we talked about the playoffs and you said that it's probably your last run as number one in the net, but that it's still hard to acknowledge that you've passed your peak?"

Freddie nods slowly.

"Which is bullshit by the way," Auston adds, and now Willy nods as well because it's indeed bullshit. Freddie is 33, and everyone is acting like he's standing with one foot in the grave. The last couple of games may have not been his best but he's still at a very solid .900% this season.

"Well, apparently Ari was less invested in her Harry Potter book than you both thought because at dinner that night she started to ask lots of questions and was very worried that you would have to leave Canada if you don't play for the Leafs anymore." Mitch cuts in, shaking his head but smiling fondly at his daughter. "Tell Freddie, what you told us."

She obviously looks a little embarrassed at first but when Freddie nods encouragingly at her she overcomes her insecurity.

"If the Leafs kick you out and don't want you anymore, you—you can stay in my room. I have lots of space, we can share."

For a second Freddie just blinks at her, then he swallows; and Willy isn't sure but he swears that he can see Freddie's nose twitch as if he's choked up. Everybody in the kitchen is holding their breath for a few seconds until Freddie sets down his plate and carefully puts his arms around Ariella—a little bit insecure about hurting her, but when she returns the tentative hug he tightens it as well.

"That's very very sweet of you."

Where is Willy's phone when he needs it? He could have recorded blackmail for the ages—or at least hide the reaction of his own face with it. Seeing big, big ' _I don't want kids_ '-Freddie all emotional because of a kid. Priceless.

"Don't worry, Ariella, even if the Leafs don't want me anymore, no one can make me leave Toronto, okay? I have a nice apartment here and no one can take that away from me or kick me out."

She nods, still very serious.

"But I'm still curious about your new room. Do I get the house tour later that you promised me?"

Before one can even look twice Ariella jumps from the counter, so fast that Mitch barely manages to catch her plate with the half-eaten cake.

"Don't worry," he says to Willy as they are staring after her, Auston and Freddie as they take off for another tour of the house. "You're still her favourite."

Willy raises an eyebrow questioningly.

"She also said you could bunk in with me and Auston if the Leafs don't want you anymore." Mitch's giggles are too amused and smug to not make gagging sounds.

"I think I’d rather sleep in the underground passage of Union Station."

"That's what I was hoping for. I mean, I love you, Willy, but not that much." He takes his glass and raises it to him.

"Same, same, dude."

__

When Freddie, Auston and Ari return downstairs Willy is on his second glass of wine and is contemplating getting another helping of cake—they have a day off tomorrow, but he lowkey plans on getting in a session at the gym before he goes to yoga, so it's not like he's not doing anything and he always had a sweet tooth.

Ari is still holding Freddie's hand and talks animatedly about the trip that Auston promised them for the offseason, apparently her 'real' big birthday present, as if he's not constantly showering her with gifts and wouldn't do the same with Mitch if he allowed it.

They’re going to fly to Europe so Ari can see actual castles, _because the ones in Disneyland are boring, Willy,_ as she explained to him earlier.

It's probably a present that would last longer and definitely means more to her than the shiny jewelry around her neck or the cute dress that she's wearing.

"Are you going to Sweden, too, Ariella?" Willy asks her as he puts the plate into the sink, not getting the cake in favour of the steaks and skewers he saw in the fridge earlier. "You remember that's where I'm coming from, right?"

She nods, but then cocks her head and turns to Auston.

"Are we going to Sweden? Oh, please let's go."

"You could visit me, I'm always there during summer. And we've got castles, too."

"Oh yeah, in Denmark as well," Freddie chimes in, he sounds a little bit smug. "Really beautiful ones, and from the Vikings, much older than the ones in Sweden."

Behind him, Willy can hear Mitch groan where he's loading the dishwasher. He probably already knows what's coming.

"I don't know, Ari, it's not on our list yet," Auston hums thoughtfully. "But I think you're right. We should go there if there are all those cool castles."

She nods enthusiastically. "And then we can visit Willy and Freddie, too. That would be so awesome."

"Ella-Bella…" Mitch starts, but she doesn't hear him or decides to ignore him, so he hits Auston with the dishtowel before he hisses, "Are you crazy?! We can't go to Europe for three or four weeks!"

Auston only ducks away and laughs out loud.

"I think you got outvoted, Mitchy."

"Yeah, Daddy, it's two against one."

"I don’t remember that that's how we're making decisions in this house."

"Well, we do," Dylan steps over to them. "It always worked out fine. Very democratic, isn't it Connor?"

"It is indeed."

" _Traitors_."

"But Viking castles, _Mitchy._ "

"You're coming, too, Dylan? Connor? You can all—"

Suddenly Mitch shoots forward and places his hand over Auston's mouth, stops him from finishing the sentence and Willy can't read his expression; a mix between annoyance, amusement and anger Willy can't make a rhyme out of it. He has never seen Mitch angry before, hasn't even thought it was possible even though he knows from Auston that it is.

And now Auston widens his eyes and looks almost apologetic; soft and regretful.

"Sorry, boys, he's right, you can't come."

But Willy is about 110% sure the regret isn't because he has to uninvite them right after technically inviting them, and Willy is curious now. Very curious.

__

He doesn't get a chance to grill Auston about his strange behaviour until long after the barbecue dinner after Mitch has carried his sleeping daughter upstairs.

They’re sitting in the living room, Connor curled up against Alex and looking like he's dozing off, Freddie and Brinksy are in a very intense discussion about vintage sports cars, and Dylan is telling him and Jack some absurd story about his client that has a weird obsession with electrotherapy and rubber gloves. Auston is still cleaning up the kitchen after he brought them more wine and snacks (both kinds, healthy and nutritionist-approved ones and the good ones).

It's very entertaining because Dylan uses his whole body to talk and Willy has an internal bet about how many times Brinksy will manage to save the wine glasses before his boyfriend finally knocks them over or spills red wine over his soft grey sweater.

But when Auston doesn't come back after ten minutes he decides to check on him before he takes a leak (playing nice with the host and all that, his mom raised a good boy).

The reason Auston didn't join them is pretty simple—and in retrospect, Willy should have figured that out himself.

Mitch.

He quickly wonders how he missed him sneaking past them in the living room, but then again no one really paid attention.

Willy doesn't exactly plan on spying on them but he also can't look away now. He must have been quiet, or the laughter of the others and the hum of the dishwasher drowned his footsteps, and the darkness of the hallway is protecting him because they haven't noticed him yet. Or they’re too preoccupied.

They’re standing at the sink and Auston is actually rinsing wine glasses like a fucking grown-up (Willy has to file this away for later to process) while Mitch leans next to him with another helping of cake. They are talking quietly until Mitch puts down the plate and pulls Auston towards him for a kiss. Just a short one, more a peck on the lips and then the tip of Auston's nose that makes Auston close his eyes and reach for Mitch to keep him from pulling away.

Willy thinks it's kind of gross because his hands are still wet from the soapy water, but Mitch doesn't even hesitate and steps closer. Steals another kiss—like the first one, sweet and innocent. And another one and another one until Auston is giggling—charmed and lovestruck.

His words are inaudible to Willy; aren't meant for him anyway, he thinks with a small flash of guilt. But it's not enough for him to leave them both alone. He's too intrigued, too astonished when he watches Mitch gather Auston's left hand and raise it to his face so he can drop a kiss onto his ring finger.

It makes Auston's whole face light up; there is no other word for it. Willy has often teased Auston about his _Mitch smile_ but this one is different. It's not the little dumb, blissed-out expression that he is used to seeing. This is pure and calm happiness, the contentment and absolute certainty that he doesn't want to be anywhere else and doesn't need anyone else—that he found everything he needs.

Suddenly Willy remembers that he had caught his parents, once, almost just like that—on Christmas Eve, in the kitchen, standing in front of the stove, both their hands on his mom's rounded belly.

And it hits him like a truck, makes him jittery with excitement, with delight.

He doesn't have to stay and watch how Auston repeats the same action; reaches for Mitch's left hand and brushes his thumb over his fourth finger before he also presses a soft lingering kiss there.

He doesn't have to.

But he does.

He's not sure if he could move anyway. Or if he wouldn't jump up at them and hug them both. Because he's so happy for them.

Then there is a loud clatter in the living room and both Auston and Mitch flinch and look caught before they bring some distance between them and quickly hurry to the swing door that directly connects the kitchen with the living area. He can hear Mitch groan and Auston laugh and Brinks yell something about it being all Freddie's fault.

Willy chuckles. They probably did the staring contest; Freddie is a creep and can go without blinking for minutes and Brinks should've known better than to challenge a goalie, or at least Freddie - because Jack is just a lost cause like Auston in that case.

He goes to the washroom and then walks back into the living room to take in the chaos. It's just one broken bowl and a mess of chips on the table and the Mexican styled rug. From the corner of his eyes, he spots Auston pocketing his phone and dropping a short kiss on Mitch's cheek while doing so.

A part of him wants to fake-gag and tease them later—but the much bigger part is still too stunned from what he's witnessed in the kitchen and too fond to actually do it.

They are perfect together in his eyes. Even more in love than before, and that's hard to believe because they have been pretty disgusting back then. It's been over four years now since they met and more than two since they got back together, and they still sometimes look as if they'd just met and are still in the first throes of a young relationship where everything is bright and sweet and perfect.

But now there's another layer of meaning, another depth, that hasn't been there before their break up: understanding, seriousness and intimacy that has nothing to do with sex or physical closeness. It's visible in the ways they move around each other and how they carved space in their lives for the other to fit in. In the way, they tease the other and sometimes just communicate silently while looking at each other. In the way Auston agreed to live in Summerhill instead of Waterfront or Forest Hill like JT and Mo; or Mitch agreed to not stay in Cabbagetown and let Auston pay for the renovation of this house.

Patty once said that Auston found his anchor in Mitch, his home. Willy didn't really understand then—because that was the last thing he wanted for himself. But he gets it now.

It's visible everywhere he looks in the house; a mix of both of their personalities; the stylish combination of modern furniture, of old materials and new sleek surfaces, of natural colours and black and white. Of quirky pictures and signs that Alex found in yard sales and Mexican tiles in the kitchen and washrooms. It's Auston's luxurious car and jacuzzi and Mitch's old skateboards hanging on the brick wall in the hallway.

They found each other and then created a home - a family - that contains everything they are and need.

Willy is not jealous. He's never been jealous of anyone in his whole life before—probably due to having so many siblings. But apparently, he's more of a romantic than he thought.

Because witnessing Auston's and Mitch's relationship grow and evolve makes him happy and realize that this is something worth having, and something worth changing for.

Makes him smile and protect their secret, instead of blurting it out the way he would've done a year or two ago.

Makes him feel special to be a part of their home, their family, and their life. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this epilogue and all the eleven chapters before. Have a great Christmas, stay safe and optimistic that the next year will be better.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like this first part. If so... comments and kudos get me to post faster ^.^  
> Happy Canada Day for my Canadian readers <3  
> I’m on [ **tumblr** ](https://miss-malheur.tumblr.com/) and always up to talk about those two idiots.


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